


On My Brow

by CommonSenseisPaineful



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: 1970s, A Night at the Opera Era, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Slow Burn, background deacury, song related chapter titles, very little though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2019-10-27 03:03:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17758547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommonSenseisPaineful/pseuds/CommonSenseisPaineful
Summary: Rockfield Studios. A Night at the opera. Some would do near anything to keep their secrets hidden, others- well they would do anything to know.~Featuring flashbacks, multiple POVs and four pining idiots trapped under the same roof.





	1. On Such a Breathless Night As This

**Author's Note:**

> So it’s been a while huh? I’m back in a new fandom and I’m loving every second of it, though do be aware that the updating schedule of this is unreliable at best. I promise that I still care however, and I’ll try my best to remain at least somewhat consistent. I had so much fun doing this, and would love to write more, any comments and kudos are super appreciated as they really help break down that writers block.
> 
> Enjoy!

“Fuck!”

Brian ground forward, feeling the uncomfortable friction unyielding as his fingers turned white with the strain against the neck he was clutching. He was so close, just a twist more and- and-

“Should we take a break Bri?” Roger turned to face the guitarist with a concerned look, tapping his drumsticks against each other.

His face was slightly flushed from irritation, waving his hand in a dismissive manner to tell Roger to do whatever he damn well pleased. 

Blinking at the clock in exhaustion, Roger sighed and ran his fingers over the edge of the drum. With the rural nightsky he could see the moon gazing through the roof windows in the studio- pearly light draped over the tangle of wires, scrapped paper and other miscellaneous junk from recording.

Brian hummed again, frustrated, Roger could tell from how he was biting his lip too hard to be pleasurable. The Red Special was giving him grief after being packed away from the journey to Rockfield Studios, and knowing its significance to Brian he could hardly blame him. He kept muttering about problems: the wrong tuning, or taut strings, or even once which made John snort was the “inappropriate moisture” at the farm studio. Brian had shot him an exceedingly nasty look that made Freddie’s eyebrows raise and John to go very quiet.

“C’mon Bri, it’s practically morning and you’re still holding that like it owes you money.”

Rodger hopped off his drum stool, shoving the sticks in his back pocket.

“It’s just not-“ Brian spoke through clenched teeth “-not quite there yet.”

It’s not that Roger didn’t understand him, once when he’d broken through a drum he’d been up until breakfast stripping, cleaning and rebuilding. But he was beginning to worry over the dark circles under Brian’s eyes, and the way he had to count his breaths to stay calm, and the way his hands were trembling and-

Well, at least he would say that he didn’t want to deal with his bitchiness in the morning from lack of sleep.

He sauntered behind him, knowing well that despite Brian’s cool demeanour when in a temper he was jittery and rash. Opting for the subtle approach, he lay his hand lightly on his shoulder and pouted.

“Please Brian I need my beauty sleep. I can’t keep up looking like this if we’re up every morning.”

“You could have gone back with John and Freddie,” Brian worried his lip and his hands paused over the frets.

Sighing melodramatically, Roger patted his back and stepped in front of him.

“How else would I hear your killer solos before the others then?”

The pout was apparently effective, as Brian gave one last mournful look at the Red Special, then lifted her off his shoulders delicately before walking over to the case. Brian’s sigh reminded Roger of the look Freddie had given him before he left for the night, frowning at him before glancing to Brian, as if expecting something. 

“What time is it?” he asked, closing the lid of the case reverently then starting to leave with Roger, flicking the power switches as he went.

“Early morning I guess, it’s still dark, so theres that.”

Roger didn’t mind sleeping late, if only for a better reason. John sensibly had left at the first stoke of midnight, deciding that whatever Brian was hot about was just not his problem.

Closing the wooden door behind them, Roger could hear the crunch of the gravel beneath his feet in the near-blackness. If he squinted he could see maybe a brush of pink on the horizon, but then again it might just be his tired eyes.

The walk to the house was quiet, except for their footsteps. Underneath the sounds of the night Roger could hear the faint humming of his friend, out of pitch and tune but recognisable. Someone had left the hall light on for them, good for Brian as he locked the front door behind them, not so good for Roger as he still managed to thump his foot into the inconveniently placed coat-stand next to them.

The household had a slumbering quality to it in this liminal hour, seemingly empty but alive with heaving breaths of the others sleeping. The clock downstairs ticked faintly through the floorboards, almost in time with the drum of Rogers fingers against the doorknob to his room as he heard Brian open his with a hush. There was this image, plastered in his mind like a garish wallpaper, that was impossible to ignore- although it was far easier on the eyes. It was the way Brian’s face had screwed up in concentration while playing- that was it. Not in frustration or confusion, like when a chord was in disorder to the whole tune, but when Brian was totally and wholly engrossed- that was some kind of magic. His head would cock to one side, his gaze fixed upon the guitar; occasionally biting his lip, subconsciously, as his fingers drifted from one fret to the next. If that wasn’t enough, his hair- the curls of his hair would fall from his shoulders as he swayed with the music, flicked from one side as he tossed his head in satisfaction when he ripped out a pretty pleasing note. It wasn’t like Roger was memorising this: not the way his eyes would flick back and forth along the neck of the guitar, or how his stance would slowly change as the rhythm grew in crescendo- bending like the Red Special was weighing him down with its voice.

It wasn’t anything like that at all.

“Hey- um...” Roger spoke softly, partly in not wanting to wake anyone else up, partly anxious if he was actually heard.

Still facing the door, Roger turned his head around to avoid looking too worried, catching Brian’s glance at his through the open door behind him. 

“You played good tonight, y’know despite everything wrong with...” He nodded firmly, beaming a smile- “it was good.”

He averted his gaze to the windowsill where the curtains were mostly drawn, hosting one of the houses many taxidermied fauna in the strange bell-jars. A blackbird peered back at him.

“Thank you Rog,” Brian smiled with closed lips, the time finally wearing on his face, “we’ll get it right tomorrow.”

Despite the sleepiness in his eyes, Brian’s look made Roger hold his breath a little. Tired jitters, he thought, his toes curling in his shoes as he traced the curves of Brian’s smile with his eyes.

“Right then. Goodnight.”

Roger turned back briskly, flinging his door open perhaps a little too hastily for four in the morning, and trotting inside as he heard Brian’s softly click shut.

The house fell back into its undisturbed silence, even the floorboards sighing from the old creaks of the settling foundations. The meadows behind the farmland quieting, the twilight hours before the dawn slumbering.

And Roger resting his head against the door, rapping his fingers against his knuckles, breathing.

 

~

 

“Erm, what are you doing?”

Brian watched with veiled curiosity as the drummer- Roger, he remembered- paused whatever he was doing to look up at him. He readjusted the strap to his Red Special for the fourth time, hoping he hadn’t noticed, as he smiled down at him faintly.

“I’m tuning it?” Roger said with a cocked expression, resuming the twiddling of his fingers along the metal lugs of the drum.

Brian shifted uncomfortably, normally used to new drummers immediately whacking the thing with as much force as possible. He was meeting up with this guy in hopes of starting a group- a student band- he winced at, knowing the cliche. He had responded to Brian’s notice, well at least his mate had, who said Roger was decent and wanted to give it a go. But still, Brian thought as he watched his nimble fingers trace along the rim of the drum for abnormalities, this guy knew what he was doing. In this unprecedented waiting time he had between setting up and practice, Brian took the time to study the drummer. He was short, by his standards quite short indeed, and had a lithe figure he guessed as a result of the exercise of music. Rogers hair fell to his shoulders, laying heavy on them in waves of golden blonde- not stringy like some other guys who looked like they hadn’t seen running water in weeks, but very soft and light. Falling slowly across his neck as he twisted his head to get a better look at something, and enveloped his face to where Roger periodically brushed it away from his cheekbones.

“Right, what do you want to start with?”

Roger shifted again on his seat, his cocky attitude a veil Brian had guessed for the twitchiness in his fingers. Brian began to strum a few chords to something rock and roll, a pretty standard exercise he used to practise. He glanced over briefly, seeing Roger biting his lip and bouncing his head with the rhythm before he began his own tune. Soon, the average rhythm began to take shape, its depth bolstered by Rogers well-timed additions. His eyes met Brian’s a couple times as they harmonised, big and blue and reflecting what he saw in them, and they lit up as Brian wrangled a long wail from the guitar. The two reflected each other’s melodies in a call and response, he suppressed a gasp as Roger rolled his wrists and the fluid drum beats followed. His style was incredibly unique, and as Brian noticed by the way he closed his eyes as he drummed to feel the music, it was also very good. His eyes drifted away from the guitar to how toned his arms looked when he was performing, fingers twirling his drumstick before hitting hard- Brian’s fingers slipped and the Red Special winced out a sour note. He snapped his gaze back to himself, trying to get back into the music rather than giving a virtual undressing to the potential new drummer- what was he thinking? They rounded off with a flourish, a long harmony between the Special and Roger who twirled in his seat.

“That was not just me, that was great!”

Roger was staring right at him, chest rising and falling quickly as he raced with energy- Brian almost couldn’t say anything, too pinned by his gaze before he choked out- “Yeah that was fantastic!”

Hashing out the details over the band with Roger was easy, he understood the practicing and performing routine well. As he began to pack away the Special, Brian glanced back at Roger tapping his fingers against the drum softly, his legs still shaking from the music.

“Do you- do you wanna get a drink or something?”

Brian asked, mentally cursing himself.

“Yeah- yeah, that would be nice.” Roger nodded, putting off packing up his equipment in favour of almost knocking over his stool to walk over to Brian. Brian laughed under his breath at the almost inaudible squeal Roger made, and his rapidly rising blush- pretending to ignore his own as Roger began chatting about the acoustics of a drum kit.

This could be the start of something then. Brian pondered, remembering Rogers subtle flair while rehearsing, the way he grinned to himself when he hit the right note in time with Brian’s own music.

This could be-


	2. And the night followed day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Brian’s breath was caught in his throat. So then, he was in love.'  
> ~  
> A morning after and a night before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god I'm back again. New chapter, new me and this time a fully planned storyline. I really loved writing this one, the physicality of it plus the descriptions of the environment around the farm and the boy's creativity. Hopefully I'm starting to gain some traction in where this story might be going, plus it's penultimate product. If you enjoyed this please kudos or comment, and any suggestions for what you might like to see might just spark some creativity in me. Also, any comments on this structure of fic, as in real time events followed by a flashback, I quite enjoy it as it's a way of exploring the many facets of their relationship.  
> Anyway, thanks for reading!

If there was one decent thing about recording in a farm, it was definitely the gentle waves of light that awoke him in the mornings. They peered in through the curtains, enveloping the room in a strange amber glow that didn’t hurt his eyes like the harsh fluorescence of city lights. He stretched, pushing his legs until his toes popped out from under the bedspread, his arms uncurled from around his head to where he spread his fingers wide in the pale sunlight. It was nice in the quiet, homely even. The air was slightly chilly, and Roger curled back in and hugged his knees to his chest to conserve that precious first-waking moments of warmth and comfort. Deep breaths in, the stillness of the air lulled him back into dreams. Closing his eyes, he thought foggily on the night before, Brian’s wry smile and his gentleness in handling that guitar so in contrast to his frustration. He was a perfectionist, Roger nodded to himself, snuggling further under the covers. He wanted to get things just perfect; the right chord, the right sound to complement each element of the music. Freddie even said his guitar was lyrical, like another voice amongst his and Rogers. Brian wasn’t shy at letting his voice come through it either, taking a shine to long solos in their recent concerts to show a range of styles he could create, often to familiar tune. It was his favourite thing, as he tapped out a half-forgotten beat on the rim of his drums as the rest of them set up, to watch Brian fiddle with the Red Special- fingers tracing over possible notes like he was trying to memorise every grain of the wood. Meticulous, even- Brian always wanted to get it right.

The clink of cups and cutlery from downstairs caused him to crack open his eyes again, sighing under the covers as he heard the creak on the stairs of someone going down. He rubbed his eyes, resigned to the fact that his stomach was now awake and therefore so was he. The farm had some local produce with it, fresh eggs and some milk from a farm neighboring when they could get it. Better than the stuff left on the doorstep for a couple hours anyway. Roger breathed slowly, before flinging the covers back in a “ripping off the plaster” manner and hopping onto the solid wooden floor. A shiver ran up from his toes as the floor was cool, causing him to grab his woolen sweater and bundle himself inside. Looking about the landing, shutting his door behind him, it seemed that Freddie wasn’t up either, the heavy door very much shut without a stir from within. He guessed they all needed their beauty sleep then, padding down the stairs in woefully bare feet, still half-asleep.

“So… Einstein’s in this song?”

Roger paused at the doorway to the kitchen for a second, watching as John leant back on the stool against the counter while Brian was fiddling with the coffee machine- waving various hand gestures around.

“No, no- it’s about his theory” Brian turned around, not yet spotting Roger in the doorway, “relativity!”

John made a noise of exquisite confusion, followed by Brian raising his hands in defense, finally looking up as Roger shuffled onto the nearest stool.

“Ah, Rog, you understand what I’m talking about right?”

Roger reached forward, clasping onto the nearest cup of coffee like how a sloth hugs a tree branch.

“I’ll understand more after this.” He murmured, putting the mug to his lips and scrunching his face as he sipped the too hot liquid. John muffled a laugh as Brian stared down at Roger hording his mug thank you very much.

Huffing, Brian turned back to the stovetop, leaving John to his half-hearted crossword and Roger to his coffee. He closed his hands around the sides of the cup, hooking his thumbs through the handle to feel the delightful warmth emanating from inside. Half-humming, half-dreaming, Roger watched Brian preparing the food, his deft hands working the hob almost effortlessly. The smell of breakfast foods was one of his weaknesses- the greasy and heavy scent of sizzling bacon, the meaty richness of sausages, earthy and full mushrooms with the sweet note of grilled tomato. It was the anticipation that was the worst, he was almost certain Brian was cooking as slow as possible as a dreadful revenge. Glancing over Brian’s shoulder, he saw the new egg box delivered, and his mind filled with the images of shining, golden yolks over crunchy brown toast.

“Whatever it is, I’m starving.” Freddie announced as he walked into the kitchen, claiming the seat nearest the food as his own before peering over Brian at the counter. Reprimanded with a swat on his nose from the back of a spatula, Freddie sat back and leaned over to John, pointing out a missing word in the puzzle. There was an easy connection between John and Fred which was entirely unexpected, but wholly natural. The shy bass player and the exuberant lead singer, nothing like they were onstage. John chatted away, drumming his pen against the paper occasionally as if he was making a point, while Freddie hummed and listened quietly, smiling up at John as he gasped when he found a new word.

Brian slid a plate along the counter, rousing Roger enough to snatch it up before the others, to cries of dismay. He thought he saw Brian wink at him, as he handed over the plates to the others, a secret smile over his extra strip of bacon. Breakfast was as usual: bickering, joking and poking holes in current ideas until not a sausage remained. The rhythm of the conversation was pleasant, while to an outsider it would have seemed they were arguing. It was how things worked, Roger had figured out early on. These discussions, however passionate, always had rules- were always considering the music. It was nothing personal, it was art. Somehow, fighting for your song made you play it better, push the idea further, and if things really didn’t work out it would be found out sooner rather than later. Roger was thrilled by the idea, banging out his drum solo that would be on the album damn it, with much more care and passion than before. Plus, everyone was able to recognise when something was good, really good. 

“So, it has a double meaning then? At first you think it’s some sailing folk song, but it turns out to be, uh, a science fiction folk song?”

Roger raised his fork as he finished the question, watching John still shake his head with a muddled expression.

“yeah, yeah I guess it is!”

Brian grinned at him, pausing his fingers along the rim of the plate as a silent question. Roger nodded, letting Brian scoop it up and dump it in the sink.

“It’s all about ambiguity darling, because you don’t know how much time has passed until the explorers figure it out themselves.”

Freddie plucked the pencil from Johns hand, starting to draw a complicated diagram on the edge of the paper whilst waving his other hand around gracefully. The conversation had shifted away from the two of them, Freddie and John in their own musical bubble. Roger lifted the mug, only to find it saddenly empty- sticking out his lower lip and tapping the side of the cup at Brian.

“Come on then,” Brian relented, holding out his hand to take Rogers mug. As he learnt forward on the counter to reach him, almost lifting off the stool, Brian spoke softly to him about leaving Freddie and John to it and glanced out the doorway to the morning air outside. Freddie raised an eyebrow, waving them off, John tracing his fingertips over the scribbled paper.

It was colder in the morning air, exposed to the lapping breezes that chilled Roger. The sun was not yet strong enough, so he wrapped his arms around his chest in an attempt to shut himself off from the breeze. Brian seemed undisturbed however, leaning against the brickwork with his hands in his pockets.

“Thank you for last night Roger.”

Brian was looking at him with such sincere eyes, a nervous energy in his face. The wind blew the curls away from his face and off his shoulders, leaving him bare. Roger pulled his jumper closer to him.

“It’s alright mate, I get it. I get those days too- “

He paused as Brian seemed to deflate, biting his lip. Roger inched closer to him, debating in whether to share his fortress of warmth inside his jumper. Deciding to, he reached out and took Brian’s arm in his.

“It’s just…”

Brian was utterly distracted by something, head tilted away from him and his gaze focused on something far in the distance. Roger looked up at him, Brian still refusing to look back, and murmured encouragingly.

“There’s this… gap, in my head. I can’t find the right tune to fit it.”

“What’s the song?”

Finally, Brian turned to look at him, half chewing his bottom lip in the way Roger could tell he was side-tracked.

“Fred’s new thing. Y’know, the… opera one.”

“Right then,” Roger chuckled in-between words, “no wonder you’re stuck.”

“There’s the gap between the first bit and the operatic section,” Brian smiled softly, the creases in his eyes giving away his mild amusement “-it sounds weird just saying that out loud”

He jabbed Roger lightly with his elbow, causing him to giggle even more. God knows what sort of music Queen would be labelled as with the plans Freddie had.

“Seriously, Fred and I were brainstorming ideas because it just feels a bit y’know blank, there’s no transition. I thought that maybe a solo would fit, lead on the listener to change in tune, but I just can’t.”

Joking aside, Roger cocked his head and frowned as Brian shrugged.

“What’s that mean?”

“I dunno, I just… can’t find the right tune to fit. I tried everything Rog, really, but none of the old improv seems to have the same tone.”

Being as close as they were- both physically and metaphorically- Roger could sense Brian’s frustrations. The two were the closest in the band, the early days in Smile creating an inaudible language between them. They were both as good as each other at piecing together frustrations, wrong notes and wonky lyrics. Brian was methodical, stripping an idea bare and building it back up- whilst Roger used experiences in his work. Impulsivity, new sensations- driving a smidge too fast in the night especially cleared his head- dream of a left-field idea that might just work.

“What’s that the Fred says? That he always seems to write songs about emotions, no matter what. That’s just the opposite of you Bri.”

Brian frowned at him, mouth open to speak when Roger pinched him to listen.

“Because you’re too up in the sky. Always thinking of what you’re writing metrically, or thematically or whatever. The Special is like your voice Bri, make it say something emotional, like love! Every song out there is about love, and we both know that Fred’s thing is overcomplicated but it’s got the same message really. Why not write about that feeling and come down to earth a little?”

Roger paused, his heart beating uncharacteristically fast for what should have been a piece of advice between musicians. Besides, he felt he was right. Brian loved to over-research things, like the song they had been discussing over breakfast. Christ, Brian had bought a book on relativity to come up with that one. Yes, it was beautiful, yes it was enchanting to listen to it with new meanings- but sometimes Roger craved a piece of music he didn’t have to go to the library for to understand.

Brian still was silent, pondering over Rogers answer. Maybe he had been a little too firm this time in trying to tell Bri what to do, watching as the older man gazed out onto the rolling hills. He started to apologise, backtracking, when Brian whispered something he didn’t quite pick up on. Mentally rewinding, he hesitated.

“I wouldn’t really know what to say.”

~

“I think I’m in love.”

Brian paused his mindless strumming on the guitar to look up at Roger, half-standing, half-flopping against the doorway in a drunken stumble.

“You’re what now?”

“In love!” Rog waved his arm dramatically, the liquid inside the beer bottle he was clutching sloshing precariously. Brian snorted, setting down the instrument to try and tackle his roommate.

“She is so pretty, she got like- hair and everything…” Roger mumbled against Brian’s chest as he clung onto him. In the morning he would deny it all of course.

“She’s something real special then”, Brian couldn’t help egging Rog on a little, wanting to keep him awake until he got him cleaned up and in bed. God knows how difficult it was last time to get him to brush his teeth while unconscious.

“nOT as amazing as you” Roger dragged out the last syllable, singing it as he was plonked down on the closed toilet seat. Brian had chosen not to go out tonight, partly due to a hangover from Friday’s shenanigans, partly due to a half-formed riff in his head. Roger wasn’t in a bad state, hair mussed from sweat and heat in those stuffy bars, one sleeve of his shirt smelling distinctly like vodka with a stain to match, and oh- a perfectly formed lipstick mark under his chin. The colour was almost purple, like a fresh bruise. Dark pink maybe- Brian didn’t really know lipstick colours. A bit of the pigment had come off on his collar too.

“-we danced, and she had this really long hair that swayed everywhere and kind of got in the way of me kissing her-“ Roger was rambling on about the party, Brian humming tactfully as he squeezed out a flannel in warm water, then turned back to him to work on that stain.

“But it wasn’t curly like yours though, it was-“ he made hand gestures like he was trying to swat away a fly.

“Straight?”

Roger nodded, dropping his head against his chest and letting out a tired sigh. He was most pliable when tired, easily convinced. The tell-tale signs of his fluttering eyelashes, slow breaths and loosening limbs were painted all over him. Now that Brian had thought about it, his lips were a little tinted too.

“Head up Rog.”

Roger complied, too tired to make a retort. He hummed as Brian dabbed the cloth over his face, starting on his forehead and along his eyebrows, down to his cheeks and chin. Brian hovered over his neck, the lipstick staring accusingly like proof of Brian’s feelings. Quickly, he rubbed it away until it was just a pink splodge on the flannel.

“’m really tired now Bri”

Hurrying up, Brian tugged his shirt over his head, Roger melodramatically raising his arms like a puppet. He liked doing this, despite what he would say in the morning to the effect of Roger being demanding and whiny when he was drunk. He wasn’t that bad, he just was very vocal. Plus, Brian had never really been very comfortable with falling asleep before Roger was back home, irrational fears clutching his heart until he heard the familiar scratch of the door key against the lock. Roger was so sweet anyway, walking on eggshells around Brian when he thought he had woken him up.

“So are you going to see her again?” Brian questioned, a knot in his gut twisting uncomfortably.

Roger leaned his head against Brian’s hip, his back slumping finally as exhaustion overtook him. Brian ran his fingers through his hair, trying to undo the knots and tangles from dancing in those golden tresses.

“mhmm” Roger mumbled.

“What?”

“Either her or that guy hitting on me at the bar, they both had nice asses.”

Brian inhaled slowly, pausing in his ministrations to look at Roger, half-asleep and resting on Brian’s body like he belonged there. Roger wasn’t shy about the girls he went out with, even when they were just one night stands. But…

“Roger?” Brian whispered.

A quiet snore came from the sleeping form beneath him in reply.

Brian’s breath was caught in his throat. So then, he was in love.


	3. Oh, you don't believe me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so far for all the kudos and hits! I gotta say I'm becoming more engrossed in his story the more I think about it. Anyway, skipping the typical, these chapters as you might have guessed revolve around a song from a Queen album before (and including) A Night At The Opera, so actually listening to the songs help get what kind of tone/story each chapter is about. Also if you want to yell at me, got an suggestions or requests, I'll try and answer them on my side-blog: commonsenseispainefulwrites. Anyways, enjoy!

Okay, one last time. Brian’s fingers poised above the strings, mentally counting down his cue to start. John gave him a silent thumbs up as he double-checked the tape, and he tapped his fingertips in quick succession against the guitar neck before launching into his riff. Biting his lip, he ignored the silence from the other members in his solo intro, repeating the same chords a couple times over before Rogers crescendo encouraged him onwards. Without looking Brian could tell Rog was tapping his foot to the beat, face scrunched up in concentration as he hit each drum with a precise effort. It was just Roger and him, jamming in the old studio- no recordings or playbacks to worry about. Just the band, Brian thought as he strummed hard in time to Rog’s increased volume. Then, on cue, Johns hearty bass riff began to filter through, solidifying the sound into something concreate, perfect for Freddie to- 

“Ooh I like you-“ Freddie sung, as he clutched the mid-section of the microphone stand with a little more force than necessary, glancing back at Brian and winking at him before working his magic with the vocals.

From the corner of his eye, Brian could see John tapping his foot to the beat, his head bent over his bass as his hair swayed just a little with his movements.

“-and treat me like a dog-“ Rogers rolling beats had transformed into something more like a steady rhythm, rising and falling with the lyrics in intensity. Closing his eyes, Brian let the vibrations of the music carry him, remembering the positioning of his hands instantly thanks to those sleepless nights practising the tune on the edge of the bed for hours.

“You call me up-“ Fred was swaying a little too, his hips in a slight circle. The unusual time signature was not dissimilar to old-fashioned dances, and seemed to have that effect on the singer as he had trouble staying still with the mic even more so than usual. The beat was urgent, and heavy- it was crushing one moment and uplifting the next- pulling him along for the next chord, the next riff. 

“-you bring me down-“ Barely a note of discord, this was the best recording so far Brian thought absently, his mind wholly focused on the music surrounding him. Roger was hitting every note, and being right behind him each beat sent a rapid sensation up his spine until Freddie’s low notes interrupted his train of thought. There was something kind of magic about being in harmony with them, like they were all part of some great instrument, this strange rhythm giving breath for all of them to-

“Fuck!”

The swear was followed by a loud thud, probably Roger kicking his heel against the floor, and the hollow bang of his drumstick flinging across the set.

It took a moment for Brian to shake himself out of the trance, already John and Freddie had turned around curiously- John lifting his bass strap off his shoulders and propping against the drum riser. Roger was flushed, staring down at his feet as he shook his head- the initial wave of anger wearing off into prickling annoyance. 

“I’m sorry guys,” he paused like he was out of breath “I’m- I’m sorry, lets try again.”

John had made his way to the back of the kit, resting his hand gently on Rog’s shoulder before tapping out the rhythm with his fingertips on the cymbal.

“It’s okay, it’s not an easy rhythm.” John would know, being so long part of the underlying beat whilst himself and Freddie got to shine up front, they were just as integral to the song as Freddie’s lyrics or Brian’s solos- it’s just that they were… underappreciated. 

“What made you think of this one anyway? It’s kind of… old fashioned.” John continued, nodding in a silent tune as Roger bounced his legs restlessly.

“It really doesn’t matter, really, let’s try again!” Roger interjected, pulling out a spare stick from beside the drumkit. He had at least a dozen always on hand, too many fell victim to accidental tossing across the bloody room.

“Alright darling, just try not to pelt me with your sticks if I sing off key!”

Freddie hopped back to the mic, adjusting it again, whilst John patted Roger on the back before making the small jump off the riser. Brian fiddled with his guitar, glancing back up at Roger. He was shaking his head, his long tresses of hair falling over his shoulders from where it was pulled back behind his ears, their eyes meeting in an instant. 

“Ready Rog?”

He nodded, a small smile on his face. Brian turned back to John to where he was resetting the tape, and then gave him a thumbs up.

He didn’t know entirely why he chose this rhythm, he thought as he began to strum along to his own mental beat. It was, as John said, old fashioned- a ¾ time rather than the rock and roll 4/4. Like a waltz, Fred had commented when he first showed them the score. Sappy, Roger had joked.

“You call me up and tear me up inside!”

~

“So, who is it then?” 

Brian looked up from the couch to where Roger was smirking playfully, his body leaning against the doorway.

Shutting his book, and the various scribbled lyrics on its back cover- Brian made a questioning noise, prompting Roger to giggle.

“Sweet lady! Ooh-“ he slid down the wall in a mock pin-up pose, raising his hand to his forehead and pouting.

“Stay sweet- Ow!”

Brian felt a small twinge of guilt for hurling his hardcover at Roger, watching him almost trip over his feet as he rubbed his head mournfully. Just a small bit of guilt though.

“You’re an idiot.” He said, flatly, in amusement of Roger’s discomfort.

“And you’re a maniac- my head!”

Rogers melodrama never ceased to make him laugh, and Brian gave in a little by patting the cushions next to him sympathetically to appease Roger’s mood. He flopped himself down next to him, shuffling over until his leg was draped over Brian’s lap, digging his heels into his thighs in revenge.

“It is cute though, very endearing I suppose.”

Roger batted his eyelashes up at him, making kissing noises until Brian thumped him with a cushion.

“It’s not like that, it’s about… relationships in general.”

He felt himself blush a little. He wasn’t as good as explaining his songs like Roger or Freddie was, didn’t have their way of laying it out so clearly; what they were trying to say in-between the words. His was more abstract, relationships and stuff he would say. It’s what music was made for, but it didn’t make it any easier for Brian to define.

“Y’know,” Roger actually listened to him this time, propping himself up on the back of the sofa, “the one to one moments that nobody really knows how to describe.”

Roger was quiet for a moment, digesting his words. It still made him anxious, talking to the band about a song he had made. It was like baring yourself, aware you could be slashed apart at any moment. They had never so outright rejected something so harshly without saying why, but it was still a fear that wriggled like a parasite in his head.

“You’re right.” He said eventually, looking back to Brian where he had been carefully examining the cushion stitching.

“That’s a first from you.”

“I’m serious!” Roger exclaimed, his turn to get huffy over not being taken seriously.

“If someone had figured out what to say about those… one to one things, we wouldn’t have so many songs about love then. Nobody seems able to do it.”

Brian nodded, a shy smile growing on his face.

“Plus… it’s not like you’re with a girl anyway.” Roger joked, his eyes fixed on Brian’s expression.

“There are rare times you can be so eloquent Roger Taylor,” Brian chuckled, lifting Rogers legs off his lap to retrieve his mangled book from across the room. 

“Yeah, right?” Roger beamed at him, gripping his hands together on his until his knuckles were white. His eyes still following Brian’s amused expression.

“-right.” He spoke, under his breath, his gaze finally falling to the floor.

~

“You don’t believe that I’m alone.”

Brian’s hand slipped mid-chord, the discordant note souring the air like curdled milk.

“Sorry guys, let’s go again.”

He shrugged to John sheepishly, not envying how he had to trot over to the tapes to pause and reset them each time. A small huff from behind him made Brian’s heart sink a little. He didn’t really slip on the strings, deliberately breaking the tune before Roger could. He could already hear the drum beats start to waver too slow.

“I love you Bri, but you do know how to make it hard on yourself dear.”

Freddie smiled sympathetically, watching on as they all began to count down in their heads to the rhythm. Roger was a little more than out of it, chasing after the music rather than leading it- and Brian resisted the urge to call him out on it. He was normally the one who would yell when the others would speed up, too engrossed in their instruments to notice, and Roger always noticed. Always.

“Alright. What’s going wrong?” Brian declared after the next two cancelled recordings. Freddie was beginning to faulter in pitch as the timing of the lyrics fell apart, a machine running itself to pieces.

“3/4, I’m not used to it Bri” John sighed, running his hand down the neck of his guitar. He hurriedly glanced at Roger, then back down to the guitar. Brian didn’t think he heard the bass go out of time once.

“We can do it, it’s not too different from other stuff we’ve done.”

Roger’s protests made him smile, but didn’t dissipate the nervous energy in the room from too many failed attempts. At this point they would have probably tried to rewrite it, or scrap it altogether, but Fred had made the point of saying this song should be on the album so they were stuck in this awkward precipice.

“Do you think we could-“ Fred started, wandering over to the music sheets and humming the rhythm out loud.

“We can do it!”

Twisting his head around, the Special’s guitar strap rubbing against his shoulder, Brian could see his annoyance in the very red of Roger’s face, thumping his foot against the floor like he was trying to avoid kicking the whole bloody kit over.

“How about this?” John plucked a slightly different rhythm, the vibrations running up Brian’s spine like ants.

“It’s slower?” Brian questioned, resting his hands upon the Specials body- the lacquered wood smooth and cool against his hot skin.

“It can’t slow down, it’ll be creeping!” Roger interrupted, causing John to half-heartedly glare at him.

“Rog has got a point” Freddie raised his arms in defence, “we know the time, if it’s slower then…”

“No I’m just saying Fred-“ Freddie quieted as John spoke, unusually attentive considering he often got involved in the spitting arguments. John began to explain his new riff, but Brian was only half listening, his eyes closed as he focused on expelling a headache. His fingers brushed gently against the strings, so much rougher than the wood. He exhaled slowly, settling his hands as he readied himself for what wold probably be a row.

“What about the lyrics Fred? Can you change that?”

“I’m singing what’s on the record, the timing is fine.” Freddie sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“Yeah well its obviously-“ Brian glanced over at Rog’s scowl, “look we’re getting tied in knots here!”

He winced on the inside as Roger worried his lip, staring down at his feet and bouncing his legs against the floor. He didn’t mean it like it was Rog’s fault, but he was having a hard time excusing the fact that they’d been here now for an hour and forty five without a recording to show for it.

“You’re always trying to play this like I don’t even fucking know-“ Rogers voice petered out into a mutter, twirling one if the sticks between his fingers distractedly. Even John started to look weary of the argument, too similar to Brian’s own outburst earlier.

“Look I’m happy to slow down a bit, we can have a little bit of 4/4 can’t we?” John shrugged, adjusting the guitar strap uncomfortably.

Brian hummed in thought, plucking nervously at the lowest string on the Special- it could work, if they could match the points where-

“Oh, fuck slowing down!” Roger’s voice huffed from behind him, followed by a sequence of angry drum noises.

“Rog we can slow this down, it’s not hard to-“ John began, but his voice froze in his throat at Roger’s harsh gaze fell upon him. It was so… stupid, this whole argument, it made hot irritation coil up in Brian’s gut like a viper.

“Oh don’t be so fucking ridiculous Rog, we’ll all follow you!”

More than irritated, he strummed his fingers sharply against the strings for some kind of relief from the coiled up tension. This wasn’t any sort of constructive argument.

“Let’s take it down a bit!“

The whine of the guitar almost drowned out Johns exasperated voice, Brian had forgotten it was still plugged in and swore as he stilled the strings with his palm.

“It can’t slow down dears, the lyrics won’t fit if-“ Freddie spoke up, only to have the hum of John’s bass interrupt him as he banged it a little to harshly against it’s rest, John raising his arms up instead.  
He stomped off the platform, glancing over to Freddie and John before gritting his teeth at their annoyed expressions. It wasn’t Rogers fault! Hell, if the time was too difficult he’d rather lose the beat than have Roger lose his mind over it.

“I’m trying to slow the fuck down, if Rog would just-“ he waved his free hand back to the drummer, who yelled back in return. The two were now talking over each other, loud enough to be heard through the walls.

“Fuck slowing down! I’ll play exactly what-“ 

“No, I’m just saying-“

“No, this is the time and we’re sticking with it! It’s my fault that-“ Roger kicked his stool from underneath him, punctuating his sharp inhale of breath “I just can’t keep with it!”

Brian’s breath held in his chest as Roger stormed past him, the door to the studio banging against his hinges after him. The air almost reverberated with energy, one minute the blonde had been the source of the chaos, the next he was gone.  
“Brian.”

Looking up, Freddie was crowding next to John, his hand on his shoulder. Both of them looked at him, straight through him, and he sighed.

“I know…”

“Don’t darling, just go talk to him. We’ll sort this out, you just need to sort out your hysterical queen.”

John smiled as he stifled a laugh, causing Fred to poke him in the ribs before waving off Brian. Lifting the Special off his shoulders seemed to carry and extra weight, and he felt almost breathless as cool wind lapped against him. A thin trail of smoke in the air lead him to the drummer, perched upon a bench against the barn wall, a cigarette in his mouths which he took quick, nervous drags from.

He felt almost awkward as he eased himself next to Roger, feeling the younger man flinch and bundle up into himself, one hand drumming on the seat.

“Why?”

“Because it’s your song Brian, we’re keeping it the way you wrote it. I quite like it actually.” Roger sniffed, his arms still folded around himself like a straitjacket. He flicked the cigarette from between his fingers onto the ground and gripped onto his legs instead.

“It’s yours, you shouldn’t have to change it because it’s difficult to play, then it wouldn’t be your vision anymore.”

He shuffled up next to Roger, the moment his body touched his Roger seemed to exhale all the anxious energy balled up inside him. His shoulders bumped against Roger’s, feeling unspeakably warm. It was quiet for a moment, silent except for the distant birdcalls. Brian opened his mouth to speak but stilled as Rog’s hand settled over his own. His palm flipped over, tentatively lacing his fingers in between Roger’s own.

“I’m sorry.”

Another birdcall, a swallow.

“It’s alright.”


	4. raise my voice in anger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What was that line- Listen!” Roger jumped a little as John remember, his gaze turning from the ceiling to staring at him with a sigh “are you gonna listen Rog?”  
> ...  
> “What do you mean.” Roger’s words came out in a half-whisper.
> 
> “You. You and-“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Belated but gosh am I happy with this one. The planning is a pain, the writing even worse and proof-reading has me reaching for painkillers but this chapter is up and boy does it escalate things. I've taken quite a bit of inspiration from otehr fics out there, which I love them all, and I hope this fulfills the angsty tension thus far. Big thanks to lanterngoesswingingby on tumblr for explaining to me the rules of Scrabble. I don't know what I'd do without your triple score tip!  
> Anyways, enjoy, and any and all comments are loved!

“I honestly don’t even know if these are euphemisms or not, I mean Boon Doogle?” Roger placed the aforementioned drink in front of John, “What does that even mean?”

“Trunk and bun?” Brian raised a very uncertain eyebrow at his own pint.

“Who knows, but it’s the stuff on tap.” Roger shoved him over and settled into the booth. It was leather-backed, curving at a right angle that let them all sit fairly close. John had tucked himself into the corner, Freddie reclining next to him sipping at the amber liquid in his glass.

“It’s a nice variety actually Roger, very local.” John hummed.

“I dread to think what’s very local.”

Brian poked him in the ribs, making his laugh and almost spill his drink. It was fairly comfortable this, being able to go get a drink after a day of recording. In the past Fred had wanted them to go to some too loud, too crowded bar to celebrate- but the relative isolation of the farm forced them into closer (and quieter) quarters. Besides, Roger had insisted (well nagged them really) that he needed a pint to soothe his throat from Fred’s new bloody lyrics. I mean, only Bri seemed to care that he got the name of this astronomer right.

His gaze drifted over to the man sat next to him, their shoulders touching whenever Brian leant back to say something. It had been nearly a week after his… outburst, he would say. The spiders touch of Brian’s hands on his still thrummed under his skin, not something that he could forget as quickly as any of their other touches. Maybe it was how heated he was; but that slow, deliberate and cautious meeting of hands between them had replayed in his mind like a catchy tune. He had known Brian for a number of years now, he mused as he watched him throw his head back in laughter at one of John’s quips, and yet his brain still managed to find more things about the man to memorise. His hands, calloused from intense practise, brushing against the back of his neck as he clung onto him after one too many. How his pale neck would contrast to those slightly ridiculous necklaces and ties Fred had given him, a little too tight and a faint pink line would last overnight. Brian’s long legs that meant Roger had to half trot to keep up with his stride, and god, the line of his figure in those too tight-

He tipped his glass back, only to find it empty as that half-finished thought was tucked away for later. Frowning, he turned to see Brian had almost finished his, his pink flushed cheeks evidence of that.

“Let me get that for you love.”

Roger reached forward to grab both his and Brian’s glasses, leaning over to pass them to the smiling barmaid. She was shapely, pretty in the cocked way she leaned her hand on her hip and held the drinks tray with the other. 

“Thanks, I’d quite like another actually.” Roger grinned up at her, tapping his fingers lightly on the wooden table. It practically came naturally to him to flirt a little, tilting his head as he laughed.

“Sure thing, how about you my love?” Her gaze fell to Brian, then a quite obvious once-over as he thought.

“Yeah but I don’t actually remember what it was-“he smiled apologetically.

“How many have you had?” She laughed, her eyes sparkling.

“Hey!” Brian huffed as John snickered, “Fred, Rog, you’re the one who choose the drinks, do you know?”

“I’ll probably be able to remember the pictures on the tap if that’s what you’re asking, Roger here was just my manservant.”

“Typical isn’t it?” Roger tried to get a word in edgeways, getting a sympathetic smile from John.

“Well why don’t you show me then I can get this one-“She patted Brian on the back “another, you might need it love!”

As Freddie squeezed out from the booth, Roger shot Brian a look only to see him laughing back at the woman. She walked back to the bar, glancing back at them, Brian was still chuckling as Freddie left.

“Much better than Fred’s clubs isn’t it?”

Roger forced a smile, watching him settle back against the cushions. John’s gaze flicked between them, something unreadable in his eyes.

“Yeah, I like pubs. Quiet.”

“Nice quiet though Deaky.” Roger felt John settle his hand on his arm before shrugging his shoulders sympathetically. Brian was quite oblivious, he hoped, even to Roger’s flirting. He supposed it was a blessing this time after that quite obvious deflection from her.

“So then…” John shuffled closer as much as his seat would allow him, nursing his pint in his hands, “what’s stuck in your head?”

Roger paused, a reply in between his teeth. Normally he liked to hash over tunes with Deaky, his sense of rhythm and what worked well could see through the flaws in Roger’s ideas. He was much less argumentative than Fred or Brian too, who seemed to focus first on the lyrics or guitar solos despite how much they cared about the piece as a whole. This conversation was normal, all normal… except for the hard look in John’s eyes, saying that it wasn’t just the most recent earworm he was interested about.

“Y’know, the usual.” Roger shrugged, glancing back at Brian who seemed to be making faces to Freddie up at the bar.

“The usual.” He replied, flatly.

The blush rose up on Roger’s cheeks, for someone who was quiet with a foreign crowd John could read one like a book.

“I think it’s a good idea to get away from the farm, fresh air and all” he waved his hand around flippantly.

John nodded, then took another sip of his drink.

“Someone else clearly thinks so,” and he tipped it towards Brian who was now laughing silently at some likely lewd joke.

“Oh yeah, nothing could get past that one.” Roger laughed, biting the inside of cheek slightly as John cocked his head.

“What was that line- Listen!” Roger jumped a little as John remember, his gaze turning from the ceiling to staring at him with a sigh “are you gonna listen Rog?”

It was unusual to see him so serious and nervous at once, John’s difficult words were not reflected in his face, already biting his lip the way he did when an argument was going sour.

“What do you mean.” Roger’s words came out in a half-whisper.

“You. You and-“

A pint of amber liquid sliding over to Roger stopped him before he could speak, and Freddie leant over the table to place Brian’s glass in front of him. Before Roger could even protest that this was an almost new shirt, Freddie had vanished back to the bar, probably to get his own drink.

The moment was gone. John reached out to wrap an arm around his shoulders and hug him, conveying the half-spoken message. Roger leaned into the touch, liking the amicable physicality between him and the band, especially when his thoughts were jostling about in his head like this.

“Careful Rog, you know how John is. One cuddle and you’re done for.” Brian joked, finally turning back to the pair. The thought made him giggle, the post-show cuddles were an almost solid routine, and John was always the softest and gentlest.

“I’m never going to live that down am I, you fall asleep on your bass player one time-“

“Oh no.” Johns eyes were wide like a deer as he spoke, slowly resting his pint on the table before shaking his head incredulously. Roger also turned to where John was staring, the shock causing him to cough on his drink.

“No, no, we said no more arguments!”

Brian’s body flopped forward as he rested on his arms, laying on the table in defeat. John snorted as Freddie smiled like a bloody housecat, parading around them as he shuffled to place the cursed object in the centre of the table.

“No more arguments darling, this is a game!” he flourished, lifting the lid off the box, running his painted fingers over the object like it was an antique.

“This is hell.”

Roger held his face in his hands, still in disbelief.

“No, this… this is scrabble.”

All three of them groaned as Freddie grinned, giggling to himself. Worst of all, the box seemed to have no missing piece whatsoever- no excuses.

“It was right behind the counter!” Fred squeezed in next to John in the booth, bumping his side with his elbow amicably. “I had to get Brian’s new friend to dust it off for me.”

John was the most accepting out of all of them, half-smiling as he shook his head before reaching forward to set up the pieces.

“Don’t you dare Deaky.” Roger hissed, and John raised an eyebrow before placing all the counters on the table in a cluttered heap.

“He dares, don’t you love?” Freddie entwined his fingers in John’s hair, lightly braiding one side loosely. It was a habit of Fred’s, playing with other people’s hair. Mainly Roger or John, as he said their hair was the softest and most beautiful to work with, while Brian scared him off with a scowl and a thinly veiled threat of torture if he disturbed his curls. John in particular didn’t mind it, leaning slightly in Freddie’s touch with a sigh under his breath.

“All in, biggest loser has to pay.” Brian relented, tapping a piece against the wood in a rhythm that suggested he was already figuring out his game plan. Brian was almost as serious as Fred, and the greatest enforcer of the rules.

“Yeah, yeah rock’n’rolls stars we are, scrabble tournaments…” Roger muttered, placing down a strategic S to make one of his words plural.

“We’re counting other languages right?” John questioned, fiddling with his tiles between his fingers.

“Only if we know what it means, otherwise we can’t call your bluff Deaks”

“Okay then… amour, that means love.” The tiles clicked a little when placed down.

“I see your love, and raise it to my glamour.” Freddie winked and placed his two tiles down.

The smooth surface of the tiles were almost distracting, Roger bit his lip as he thought hard about his next few moves. Their regular rehearsal studio had a scrabble box tucked away under the risers, often when they couldn’t agree about a note or some technical issue had John out of action for a while. A fair few arguments had been settled (and started) over the wordplay, Freddie in particular liked to sneak in rule-bending words. The board was getting quite full at this point, with Roger’s drink now empty and a pressure in his bladder telling him it was about an hour since they first started. It was a habit of he and Fred when they were stumped to just add onto existing words. Earning became yearning as John yawned for the first time that evening. Lust turned into fluster as Fred giggled receiving Brian’s stony look. Lint to splinter, and Brian leant against Roger a little more as he began to relax into the back cushions. Roger’s pathetic six-score mill was targeted next by Freddie, clicking down the tiles with a triumphant look.

“What, that’s not even a word Fred!”

“Bis- Bismillah? You’re not even trying to trick us this time” Roger agreed, glancing at Brian’s outraged look.

“Yes it is. Bismillah, it means “in the name of God”, it’s not my fault that you’re so” Freddie smiled devilishly “uncultured.”

“I’ll give you uncultured in a minute.” He scowled, a much higher score than anything he had thought of.

“16 points in one word, impressive Fred.” John mused, his face calm and unreadable as he placed down his tiles.

“Almost as impressive as mine- 18 points I believe except that it’s on triple word score so…” He grinned a little shyly, eyes sparkling at Freddie’s rapidly dissolving victory.

“What?!”

“Frazil, he’s right Fred, it means ice crystals.” Brian patted Fred’s outstretched arms as he lay prone on the table top. A small groan emitted from the heap, John twisting a curl of Fred’s dark hair as he laughed.

“You’ve killed him John, that was about the worst thing I think you’ve ever done.”

John giggled, hauling Freddie up and clinging onto his side whilst Freddie moaned in defeat. The two were cute together, a thought sprang into Roger’s head, they would make a good…

“So maths-wise, Rog you’re the one with the lowest score.”

Eyebrows raised, Roger tried his best to shut Brian up before the other two noticed, kicking him from under the table.

“Yeah, that’s right.” John agreed as he cuddled against Fred. The lump made some sort of conceding noise in agreement.

“Well-“ Roger shifted out from the booth, “At least I’m not a sore loser.”

The pair chuckled as Roger began to walk over to the bar, Brian sorting through the pieces meticulously as he put them away.

The pub was less cramped by the bar top, Roger took a seat on one of the stools and waited for barkeep to finish. From this angle he could see just a slice of the table- in between a timber pillar and the raised fireplace. It had quite a rustic feel, or as Fred had said a decrepit feel for a small pub in the middle of the country. Freddie seemed to have cheered up however, whispering something in John’s ear as he laughed- the effect of the alcohol pink on his cheeks. Brian was obscured almost entirely by the view- only when he leant forward to pack away the board was he fully visible to Roger, his hands darting between the table and somewhere else. Knowing he couldn’t see him, Roger paused- fully and entirely- to gaze at his friend. Something about his figure, the moment when in a crowd he recognised him, made the blood rise to Roger’s face and a coiled spring of tension in his gut. He hadn’t even noticed he was rapping his knuckles against his knee in some half-formed tune, his gaze dripping off his friend like soft summer rain.

“So you and your mates, are you local?”

Roger spun around a little too quickly, seeing the barmaid leaning on her elbows as she waited for him to reply. He said something in the negative- just visiting- and pulled out a few notes as she tallied the bill.

“The tall one, what’s his name? I feel I should know you better now that you’re visitors.”

“Um, Brian.” He stated, her soft smile making him recoil.

“Hmm, well let him know you’re all welcome anytime.” She purred, also distracted by someone out of sight. Her voice, that familiar blushed cheeks and her cloudy eyes felt like a scrape against his soul. It wasn’t even her fault, a conscious part of him cried as he snatched up the receipt a little too hastily, his lips curling into a frown as he stood upwards. He was a hypocrite, another part argued, too used to the smitten look aimed his way to accept it being directed as his friend. No, scratch that, Roger was plenty used to the scorching gazes Freddie would attract from across the bar, the swollen lips and heady perfumes of their old haunts. It was Brian. That was his problem.

Brian was half-standing when Roger almost bumped into him, too consumed in thought to realise. The guitarist flinched for a second, then his eyes softened as he grinned down on Roger.

“Where’s Fred and Deaks?” he said, curtly.

“Oh-“ his honeyed look faltered a little, “something about the bathroom and one too many? I was going to wait outside.”

Brian gestured vaguely, shucking on his coat to face the night-chilled air.

“I’ll go find them, it’s freezing out there.” Roger nodded, trying to set his mood straight. Despite Brian’s kind look, he was on edge like coiled spring. It was maddening, Brian’s soft pat on his shoulder doing little to ease the tension. The bathrooms were in an enclave, small and just a little too cosy for his taste. The paint on the doorframe was chipped, Roger noted as he pushed the door open with a creak. The inside was a little better, a couple rows of stalls facing a picture-frame mirror-

He froze, as a long, drawn out sigh seemed to squeeze all the air out of the room. With the door shut behind him, and the noises of the pub drowned out, he could hear now the soft sounds of movement against one of the stalls. A rustle of fabric and a stifled laugh alerted him to the fact that the far stall seemed a little small for the two pairs of feet he could just see sticking out from it. He turned to leave his awkward intrusion, worrying his lip almost painfully, his hand reaching out for the cold metal door handle when-

“Freddie please-“ the voice, John’s voice, whined.

His thoughts came to a blank, stone still as the sounds of quiet, muffled moans echoed from the stall. Another laugh, two voices hurriedly trying to hush themselves. Freddie and John. Freddie and John were-

The loud knock of the door behind him slamming shut startled him back to awareness, seeing before him the familiar pub layout. His throat seemed too dry, his head too hot and the air too tight. Rushing, he weaved his way through tables until the sharp night air bit at his throat, his heartbeat rising out of his chest. The images flooded. The sneaking touches Freddie liked to place on Johns neck, thighs and chest. The way John would hold Freddie’s head between his deft hands like something precious when he was trying to get him to concentrate, that look, that look they had. And in the bathroom, he imagined John pushed up against the wall, eyes closed and his mouth half-open in pleasure. Freddie hovering below his chin, pressing kisses along his jawline up to his lips.

“Rog?”

A curly-haired figure was peering out at him from the side-wall, leaning against the brickwork casually. Stepping a little more into the orange streetlight, their wide eyes met. Brian’s expression spoke of mainly confusion, his hands still in his pockets like he had been gazing up at the stars just a moment before.

“They said… they said they’ll just be a minute.”

The words were a little too soft to seem natural, he winced internally. A tugging at his heart led him there, it was not his secret to spill.

“Huh,” Brian shuffled up next to him, his breath forming clouds in the air.

The silence stretched between them. Becoming conscious of himself, Roger shoved his hands into his pockets, huddling in the spring chill.

“That barmaid was nice, did you get her number?”

“What?”  
Roger stared up at Brian’s gentle expression half-confused, half-incensed. What the hell did he mean by that? Brian cocked his head, a playful look in his eyes crashing sourly against Roger’s foul mood.

“She seemed interested, that’s all.” He squeezed Rog’s shoulder, waving a hand in the air, “Maybe we should-“

“I’m not your go-between Brian. You can ask her out yourself if you want.” He spat, recoiling a little from Brian’s grip.

“Wait, Rog, no I meant-“

“It’s fine!” he exhaled forcefully trying to calm a little, “There’s no problem here if you want to sleep around.” He didn’t mean that, but the words crawled out his throat determinedly. Brian wasn’t like him; didn’t forget their names in the morning, awkward stares and all until they dressed and left. He didn’t end a one-night stand by dozing against his best friend with a cup of coffee in the morning.

“I don’t want to- to sleep around! God, Roger just listen.” Brian’s face was twisted into something between utter confusion, panic and frustration, his hair falling from his shoulders as he turned to grab Roger’s arm.

His pulse thrumming under his veins like an insatiable beat, Roger jerked away, clenching his jaw as he felt Brian pull harder on his sleeve. Whipping around, face flushed, he snapped:

“I am listening Bri! I hear you-“

Roger found himself tugged towards Brian’s inescapable gravity, his grip uncertain and fluttering on Roger’s arm as he thrust forward, pressing his lips against Roger’s.

Brian was kissing him.

The initial bump of their lips together was unpleasant, but melted away to the breathless sensation of Brian’s soft mouth against his own. His eyes were screwed shut, whilst Roger’s were wide open.

After a moment, Brian took a step back, his face tense and anxious as Roger stayed frightfully still. The exhaled air between his parted lips formed skeins of condensation in the air, dancing between them.

“Roger.”

His breaths came all at once, heavy and hard, and he reached forward to grasp Brian by his collar. The man was frozen, for once looking smaller than him as Roger wild blue eyes darted over his expression. Rog’s dishevelled hair brushed against Brian’s cheekbone, so close all it would take to close the gap would be to rock forward onto his toes. Brian could hardly breathe, the flush on Roger’s cheeks mixed with his bitten lips draining all the oxygen between them.

“Why don’t…” he started, gulping as he softened his grip on Brian a little, seeing his chest relax and breathe properly for the first time. He couldn’t break his gaze though, despite the falling sensation in his heart, he couldn’t.

“you leave me alone?”


	5. now today god know's what I'm doing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'The young man, now naked, peeped out of the doorway and saw the chattering swallow once again, lying dead on the ground like a little sparrow stricken by the cold. 'You miserable creature,' he said, 'I wish I had never laid eyes on you! You deceived yourself, and me as well.'   
> ~  
> The morning after of the night before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Started making it. Had a breakdown. Bon Appetit.  
> But seriously, this was a kinda hard chapter to do because of the planning, POVs and editing. Hopefully this sheds a little more light, but aren't the things in the dark so mysterious? Thank you to a darling, you know who you are, who genuinely pulled me through this. Expect another update quite soon, but in the meantime all kudos and comments are cherished liek christmas presents. Any suggestions for future fics is also cool too!  
> Enjoy!

The morning after, he pretends.

Roger waits a few, paused like the frame of a photograph on his bed- hearing Brian’s shuffling footsteps on the landing, counting them. His vision stung a little in the sunlight, dark circles only made worse by his rubbing. Roger didn’t want to leave, didn’t want to face that familiar setting of the four of them downstairs- yet his grumbling stomach seemed to be unaware of his sudden change in confidence. Deacky would already be awake, and Brian too- probably talking over coffee. 

Would Brian say something? Now that was a thought that made his jittering hands freeze. There was no way of telling. Brian was very private when it came to being romantic, blushing when Freddie would parade with his own experiences, but this was not some one-night stand. It was less than, worse than. His own best friend, from the very beginning he had been lusting over him, some friend- that was the nightmare that circled his mind. Brian would be uncomfortable, would shudder and still when he came in, it would give it all away. 

He felt he had sobered over ten times over; no drunken haze could blur Brian’s regretful expression from his eyes. How he had trembled under his grip, almost pulling back in disgust. Why did he have to make him do that? Make him kiss-

He was late enough even Freddie didn’t oversleep him, quirking a confused look when he found Roger hunched over the bedside when he knocked on his door. He trailed after him hesitantly, waiting at the doorway whilst Freddie bundled up with John, cheerily smiling at Brian. And Brian? He sat on the bar stool furthest, the paper untouched in front of him. Freddie blinked in confusion as Roger worked the coffee machine, Brian’s head hung over the countertop heavily, John’s equally muddled expression when Roger took the seat next to them instead. He waved Fred’s cooing’s off with a grumble of a hangover, his hands entwined around the coffee cup in emphasis, despite it being painfully hot by now.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Freddie place a kiss on John’s cheek, him keening up to meet him with a hidden grin.

He’d so fucked up.

Everything, he’d fucked up everything with Brian. The band, the music, he couldn’t bear thinking about- about… how he’d forced him. The thought tasted bitter and he pushed his mug away from him, standing up from the counter and choosing instead to lean in the doorway to the farmyard. His hands trembled as he loosened a cigarette from its packet, the lighter flame dismal and weak. The air bit his face, the comforts of a warm spring not yet set in as dew sparkled across the grass and spider’s webs. The wind him feel hollow as it pushed through the warmth of the house, a hollow sound of the emptiness outside.

Another clink of enamel, and Freddie and Johns mutterings made him flinch. He stared out, refusing to let his gaze look. At least they couldn’t see his eyes this way.

~

His room was actually fairly large considering the circumstances.

From the old oaken door, the room seemed to sprawl around the small, rusted window on the wall- a fraying armchair dragged to its face and staring out at the rolling hills around the farm. It was decorated somewhat haphazardly, paintings of landscapes, dried flowers, hardly rock and roll. It almost reminded him of his mother’s house- the sense of old and establishment wavering in the air like the dust that glinted in the moonlight. Brian watched, his hands clenched around his knees, as those particles floated in the crack of light spilling between the curtains- the silvery light a spotlight on his slice of the room. 

Considering the circumstances.

It was only at the faint twinge of metal did he realise he had been biting his lip, so numb at this point he could have hardly recognised the warm blush that still persisted on them. So then, he reasoned as he took the first proper breath of the night, Roger didn’t.

He had to be simple about this. It was physics. Every action has an equal but opposite reaction, and interaction between two oppositely charged bodies results in a force of attraction. No, this wasn’t electric, what they had, more than. Brian was irrefutably, unconditionally, revolving around Roger like the dance between Andromeda and the Milky Way. He was violent, he was energetic, he was chaotic, he was… beautiful. First meeting, he was a flourish of life he had craved, an escape from the dull, dreary and damning. He couldn’t have helped it if he had tried, Brian shifted on the bed until he lifted his legs onto it fully. He was spiralling, he was out of control. There was no pull greater, no escape from each flicker of Roger’s affections- each careful touch and thought-out word like tug at his heart. Of course he hadn’t shown, not a glimmer, that would have been irreparable, as he had now found out. At the centre of every galaxy is a blackhole- insatiable- and at his centre? Something equally ravenous.

His thoughts muffled as he recognised the familiar birdsong, filtering through the dulled glass. It was the swallows- hadn’t they migrated early? Flittered chirping as the flapped between the beams of the barn- Brian peered out into the darkness as they flew. This was their home, faithfully returning every summer. What was it- one swallow doesn’t make summer?

The house creaked, the sound of a footstep on the worm-chewed floorboards. Brian could almost count every muscle that moved as he stayed frozen, his breaths imperceptible. The muted steps seem to wander aimlessly, purposeless- only half-aware of the sound they were making. The silence was worse, gaping and hollow, and he could have sworn it had paused right outside.

A knock.

The door was heavy, a few inches of solid oak. Brass handles and hinges, a little battered frame. Despite everything, he still heard it.

He tried to remember the swallows; his vision fixed upon the unshifting outline of the door in the darkness. Migratory birds, he had read once in his fathers old birdwatching guide, arrives in April and leaves in September. Simple, musical twittering call. A sweep of swallows.

One swallow does not a summer make, that was it. He pressed his hands to his eyes, trying to remember the faded page.

Considering the circumstances, he had been blinded by swallows.

~

“Hey Roger,” turning suddenly out of his thoughts, Fred’s imperceptible smile greeting him as he laid a hand on his arm.

His flinch did not go unnoticed, Fred’s look falling as quickly as his hand, and he tentatively watched as he took another drag from the cigarette.

“You ready?”

“Um, yeah, hang on a sec.” He said, flicking away the rest into the cobblestones, peeking out from behind Freddie to see that Brian too had already left with John. Something clenched in his gut at the spotless countertop, usually littered with the leftovers of their breakfast now forgotten, excitement over a new song taking priority. Everything was cleaned away, washed and left to dry, all empty.

“Dear, is there something going on?” Freddie asked, a hard look in his eye from Roger’s unnerved behaviour.

He paused for a breath, shuffling under his uncomfortable gaze. He wanted to, he wished he could- but what the hell would Fred think? Basically telling Brian to piss off because he couldn’t control himself. He couldn’t stand a lecture, no matter how well meaning, he just couldn’t stand another argument where Freddie tried to force him to be open, to be comfortable with it, and his own aggravated snaps. He just… couldn’t.

“Nothing, promise.” He smiled, a little weakly, patting Fred on the shoulder as he moved to enter the kitchen.

Freddie sighed, smiling back up at him.

“Okay.”

~  
“I don’t know what to do.”

The small voice from behind him pierced through the surrounding laughter and conversations like a dart, an unmistakable twinge of defeat on every word. Roger had hunched his knees up to his chest, leaning against a drum like some packed away speaker- small and unnoticeable. Brian knew him too well, the irregular jerks of his chest the only thing Roger couldn’t hide about his tears. Tim had left them, forever, about three minutes ago. Brian could have counted the seconds crawling by, yet it felt like three years. Just as they had thought, just as they had hoped they could get somewhere.

Another sniff, and Brian felt himself be pulled to Roger’s side like the currents of a tide. Tentatively reaching over, he pulled him closer to him until Roger was wrapped under his arm. He could excuse himself this: this intimacy. Roger expressed himself physically, every emotion played out in his performances, and backstage he needed just as much. He was surprised at first by the fleeting but frequent touches, but Brian soon realised Roger expressed his love in the ways he liked to be loved. That was a funny word, but it was kind of true. Tucked in a small corner, he willed his heartbeat to settle, letting Roger follow his breaths rhythm.

“I know.” He whispered, a little unsure of how comfortable he was. Roger held slightly closer, staring down at the new empty spaces in the van.

“What is it?”

“You’re going to ask what are we going to do.” He nodded, wishing his words could assure himself as much as Roger. He shifted under him, his head twisted until he looked up at Brian’s tense gaze.

“So… what are we going to do?”

~

Another cold shoulder, argument

The mood seemed to sour throughout the day. Roger barely able to put in half the effort as normal. It was like when they played at those gigs. The ones where you had fought before, or had been yelled at by some drunk assholes. Where the room was tense and cold, and nothing seemed to sound right and everyone was staring and-

Brian strummed a wrong note for a third time and John audibly sighed in frustration. Him and Freddie had been sharing concerned looks, not like Roger couldn’t bloody notice, and that was the fucking problem. There was no problem. They were both frozen, pliant like rag dolls as Fred did his best to direct them on the song. Neither Brian or himself seemed to have any energy for this, and despite his frustration at his own staticness- he couldn’t shake himself out of it. Freddie was getting progressively more annoyed, especially how John seemed to conjure patience from nowhere, despite his confusion. Brian was as quiet as the days where he was so weighed down he couldn’t even speak, his playing stiff and regular- like a metronome.

“Break, okay I’m taking a break loves, do whatever you need to do I just need a break.” Freddie trailed off, tossing his headphones to the side and sighing harshly as he fumbled in his jacket for a packet of cigarettes. John fiddled with the cables, unplugging his guitar with a squeal from the amp. Roger glanced over at Brian, watching as he strummed the Special with the barest of fingertips, hair draped over like a curtain with how bent his head was.

“Rog, can you help me figure this out? I think I’m stuck.” Roger tossed his head over to John where he seemed to shrug at the guitar, beckoning him over. The floor felt dull as he hopped off the risers, the cold wood hard on his sneakers, sending a jolt of pain up his nerves. He was about to speak, bending over to see the amp when John clutched as his shoulder leaning in:

“Outside. Now.”

A second time, Roger felt himself be dragged somewhere, John’s brisk walk making it almost impossible for him to protest without Brian or Freddie hearing him. The crisp air made him shiver, with the crunch of gravel underfoot as John finally stopped by the side of the studio. The sunlight was almost milky, obscured by cloud and pale in its spots on the painted sky.

Roger itched, John’s heartfelt expression to raw for him to process.

“Look there’s nothing-“ he started.

“That’s not nothing Roger.” John stated, his voice a little weak but firm.

“You barely speak, you don’t play, Brian won’t even look at you. Did something happen?”

He felt his lip tremble, a rising blush on his cheeks the sure sign of tears. Shaking his head, Roger uttered a gasping laugh, not trusting his voice for the while. Even the birds were silent in this half-space, not really day or night, an in-between.

“You- you and Freddie certainly.” He spoke between breaths, trying to make John faulter. He looked taken aback, biting his lip as Roger smiled up at him sympathetically.

“Not that something.” He settled on, another discussion for another day, “you and Brian.”

With an answer stuck in his throat, Roger stepped back towards the entrance, his skin crawling with everything unsaid. John seemed to clock it before him though, beating him to the door and planting himself in front of it like some small curly-haired bouncer.

“It’s nothing John, let me back in!”

John shook his head: “I don’t want you to go back in there and treat us like we’re invisible, flinching whenever Brian tries to speak. We’re here for you Roger, always.”

He words were like the thrum of gentle rain, washing over him as some dam inside him broke.

He still stood there, waiting in the doorway for some impossible answer. John was determined, resting a palm on the wooden frame- blocking him. It’s only when it was most unbearable, when tears threaten to fall, did his look swiftly soften and he reached out to where Roger is frozen.

“Tell me. Roger, tell me.” He started, pausing as Roger sniffles and even though it seemed impossible, he somehow looks at him even more endearingly. Roger doesn’t shy away from his touch neither, a gentle guiding hand on his shoulder, as he settles them on the bench.

“I head you and Fred, in the bathroom, and then-“ he paused, feeling John tense a little at his words. It words spilt like a flood, the banks of his restraint bursting in Johns arms.

“We argued, about the barmaid. Brian wanted to see her again and I felt… jealous.” John began to stroke his hair, untangling it from where it had been tucked behind his ear.

“I didn’t mean to. I didn’t want to John. Brian must have felt so unhappy, because he-“ he felt breathless, the guilt heavy.

“He what?”

“He kissed me.”

Roger was not so silently racking with sobs now, but still could hear Johns confusion as he wiped the tears away from his cheeks.

“Why are you so upset?” the words hanging in the air.

“Because-“ Roger paused to wipe his eyes better, feeling John’s inquisitive stare on his lips.

“Because this isn’t the first time.”


	6. now I've gone and thrown it all away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Because this isn't the first time."
> 
> A chapter of second chances, at everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little less heavy handed on the imagery here, but it's lovely to see it all flourish. I hope you're all enjoying it, probably only one or two chapters left in total! I've been unsure whether to do any smut in this, and I might just put it in as an extra, but do let me know what this little idea of mine has left you thinking.  
> As always, thank you to a friend who totally deserves every bit of love.  
> All comments and kudos are super appreciated, and let me know what you might like me to write in the future!  
> Thank you!

“-don’t want to die-“ he paused for a beat, hovering his fingertips above the frets.

“sometimes-“ another, biting his lip, “ wish I’d never been born at all…”

His voice was barely above a whisper, but still faded out into the silence of the studio like as if it was a full-bodied melody. His brow was furrowed in concentration, softly strumming a few chords with the lines still reverberating in his head. It came out as a hum on the speaker, still plugged in but turned all the way down, with static louder than his own thoughts.

“Fuck.” Said Brian, eloquently.

At that moment the double studio doors opened again, a very frustrated looking Freddie storming through. The doors banged behind him in the wind, despite there being a corridor between them and the outside- like Fred had stomped his way directly from the farm. Brian looked back to his Special, if he held it just so- and kept one note singing just like-

“Brian Harold May!”

A question died in his throat when he looked up to see Freddie’s angry eyes staring him down, pinning him to the floor.

“Last night. What did you do?” his voice was simultaneously accusing and empathetic, like he was scolding a misbehaving cat.

Lost for words he shook his head, glancing back down to the guitar in his lap.

“No, no, love. You are not getting stuck in your head for this, I won’t allow it.” He uncrossed his arms, reaching over to where Brian sat and holding his hand down on the neck of the guitar to where he couldn’t move it. If he didn’t feel trapped now…

“Fred… can you move?” he whispered.

“Only if you talk to me, like you’ve been avoiding for the past few days.” He stared at him hard, but relented his position, shuffling back to let him lift the Special over his shoulders and set her on the side. Suddenly unsure what to do with his hands, Brian clutched them together on his lap. It was like this he felt most uncomfortable, without his guitar, his camera, his friends, he felt exposed. Everything felt wrong, too tall, too quiet, his legs stretched out from the edge of the drum riser awkwardly.

“I listened to your advice.” He started, quietly. Noticing, Freddie placed his hand over Brian’s, stroking the back of his palm with his thumb. It was the little intimacies like this he was so good at, knowing better than all of them (even Roger in all his physicality) how touch could convey so much.

Despite his excessive exterior, Freddie was one of the most patient listeners Brian had ever met. He almost had it down to a science, the well-timed nod, the agreeing hum or the gentle lean forward that made Brian want to tell him his whole life story. There was no exception, as Brian began to tell him the steps that led him to last night. The pub had been his idea, a space away from the frustrations of recording that he could finally breathe in without thinking of Roger there. Somewhere neutral, Fred had suggested, where neither of them could hide behind familiarities. God, he wished he could have, the thought jolted his memory. All the failed attempts at flirting, it wasn’t Rogers fault that he didn’t notice how he smiled at him more, laughed, tried to edge a little closer like he was a teenager- so pathetic, another thought. And then the barmaid, that was his fault, he didn’t expect- somehow it felt even more hopeless to try and explain away some other’s fault, some other’s misunderstandings. Roger was like he always way- enamouring, beautiful, and not interested in him.

“And that’s the point Fred!” he stumbled over his words a little, feeling his face and neck heat up in frustration.

“If I hadn’t pushed him, if I hadn’t been so- so thoughtless!”

“You kissed him?” Fred asked, looking perplexed for an instant.

He sighed, feeling his heart sink into himself a little more: “Yes.”

“And that was thoughtless?”

His comment confused him, mixing with the already heavy weight of admitting it all and a touch of exhaustion. He had dreamt a similar conversion in his terrified wakefulness of the night.

“Why do you say that?” he whispered, feeling like a taught and worn string.

“Because I can’t possibly understand it. Brian, with a head like yours you always spend your whole life thinking. You ponder for hours and hours until you’re worn raw- how can something you do, something you’ve wanted, be thoughtless?”

With that, Fred sighed and locked his fingers around Brian’s, almost locking him into his own wisdom whether he liked it or not. The touch gave him a little comfort, a pleasant warmth away from that of his own hot shame.

“Because it’s him.” He breathed, “I can’t think when I’m around Roger.”

“I don’t have to worry over every detail, not when I’m with him. That’s why I’m so, so scared, of losing that.”

He didn’t know quite how to explain it, the words falling from his lips as he drummed on his knuckles, around Freddie’s own fingers. It didn’t sound right, coming from him, didn’t sound like he should be saying it at all. Freddie stared down at his hand for a while, face still in exquisite concentration, taking a deep breath and asking.

“Like two years ago?”

~

With so many emotions flashing past him in an instant, Roger briefly considered that this might not be a good idea. Still, as his fist collided with the soon to be ex-bass players chin, the surge of satisfaction stifled his uncertainties, the crunch of his knuckles knocking his jaw overriding all thoughts. Stumbling backwards, the guy clutched his face, a hint of blood spotting his fingertips.

“Roger!”

Oh yeah, Brian.

Conflicted between the two, Brian half hugged, half held back Roger as his eyes flittered over his face in confusion. His grip was white-knuckle on his shoulders, holding him from behind as Rog twisted to meet his gaze.

“What the hell? What did he say?” He whispered, still holding him tight in fear that Roger might suddenly decide to launch at him again.

“Bullshit Bri, it’s all shit.” Roger spat, eyeing the guy as he stood up, “said we were… that I was…”

Noticing Rogers constraint, Brian steely looked onto the man who was now standing there, guitar in hand and a little blood around his nose.

“I quit.” He snapped. Roger seemed to almost growl at him.

“Look, I’m sorry mate, but this isn’t working-“ he began.

“No shit. Keep your boyfriend under control, I’ve better than half-filled bars and college dances anyways.” He slung the guitar over his shoulder, utter contempt in his eyes as he stared between them.

“What the fuck did-“ Roger stopped as Brian squeezed his shoulder, shaking his head almost imperceptibly. The tension seemed to ease a little from where Brian held him, leaning back into his chest. The man pushed past them out of the crowded closet the pub owner had called a dressing room, knocking Brian’s grip on Roger with his guitar. He paused to look back at the two of them, Brian’s hand readjusting to around Rogers waist.

“So that’s how it is. Bunch of fucking queers.”

“Wanker!” Roger seemed to spit as his figure bled into the darkness of the midnight pub, still trembling from the adrenaline. How dare he- calling them- he was a fucking prick. Not that Roger had a problem with those people, he seemed to physically shake that idea from his head, it’s just that he certainly wasn’t one of them.

“How long did that one last?” Brian finally spoke up, Roger feeing his chest heave with annoyance behind him. 

“A couple months- too long.” he muttered, not yet willing to pull from Brian’s semi-embrace, as every touch of his skin seemed to calm his thrumming pulse. The tension seemed to dissipate almost as quickly as it arrived, just Roger and Brian holding each other in a darkened closet- a strange thought fluttered across his mind at that.

“Fred’s not going to be happy” Brian relented, he disliked the man anyway, but they couldn’t go far without a bass player. Even an arsehole one was better than nothing.

“I think he’ll understand perfectly” Roger laughed, pinching Brian’s side until he too chuckled at the thought of Fred’s reaction. Freddie would be incredulous, but totally immune to anything that the guy could have said to him anyway. He’d probably laugh and say good riddance, a face scrunched up like he was taking out the bins, but it would never get to him. He’d never said anything, but Roger and Brian both knew on instinct, that Freddie would be more hurt than most at those comments. Freddie was indestructible, and Roger wished he could put up that façade too.

“I’m getting a drink, you coming?” he asked, leaning against the doorway. Something strong seemed appealing, with a pretty young thing next to it.

“You don’t deserve it Taylor.” Brian chuckled, Roger’s impervious smile growing a little as Brian’s eyes creased in amusement.

“But I deserve you with me.” he whined, pouting up at him. It was endearing to see Brian amused, especially when he expected him to lash out at Roger’s confrontation. That was his best quality though, he mused as Brian rolled his eyes at him, he was too thoughtful to make that mistake.

“I have a good idea to just go home now, too much excitement for one night.” Brian turned back to pick up the Special’s case, lugging it over his shoulder to where the strap rubbed irritatingly against his neck. Roger seemed to scowl at that, hooking his fingers under the strap to lift it off.

“Never. What can I do to convince you?”

“I’m resistant to your charms Roger, it’s late, I’m tired.” To make his point he yawned, flinching as Roger poked him on the chin to get him to pay attention.

“Hmm” he hummed as Brian smiled down at him a little impatiently, “just one drink?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Nope.”

“Please?”

Roger fluttered his eyelashes in an exaggerated way that made Brian chuckle, throwing back his head as Roger leaned forward. A clever look in his eyes, he quickly pressed his lips against Brians, staring into his eyes before pulling back and smirking.

“How about now?”

His hands began to fidget as Brian stood still for too long, exhaling slowly as the guitar case fell down his shoulders. The adrenaline was gone, but that thrumming pulse still remained at the forefront of his mind. Brian seemed to compose himself behind a look, rolling his eyes and placing the case against the wall.

“Fine. One.”

~

“Look, fake or real or whatever, they’re selling for 25 or 30 quid on catalogues. Fred and I have a couple, brush them off, and it’s a deal to anyone in the market!”

Roger and Brian were crammed into two tiny stools on the corner of the bar, with Brian’s back being pushed uncomfortably against some exposed brickwork. Roger leant forward in his seat, his balance questionable as he reached out for his drink. He had been regaling Brian for the past forty minutes on the economics of the Kensington market stall with Freddie, excitement visible in those bright blue eyes as they seemed to spark with ideas. Their newest “investment”, four fur coats that in Brian’s eyes looked like the matted hair of stray cats, had him bouncing in his seat.

“How did you get them without paying that much?” Brian asked, mainly to see Roger’s mind working as he told him the math. He wasn’t too keen on that side of it, but Roger seemed to know more than anyone.

“So you read women’s fashion magazines now? God you’re as bad as Fred.” He teased, watching Roger grow pink in amusement.

“I do read them actually…” he muttered sheepishly “for market research. You’ve got to keep up to date.” And Brian laughed in his pint as he took a sip.

“Anyway, Freddie thinks they’re beautiful, he’s not half wrong-“ Roger shrugged, a yawn escaping him, “I’ve got half a mind to get one myself.”

At Brian’s splutter Roger punched his arm, but it ended up more like a hug as Brian grabbed onto him in retaliation.

“You’d look like sheepdog Rog.” He giggled, the mental image of Roger engulfed by a too large fur coat.

“Well you already look like a poodle Bri” Roger snapped back, not meaning any hardness to his words. Brian dropped his mouth open, raising his eyebrows in mock dismay- making Roger laugh even more. Roger when he laughed was a symphony of joy all over. The corners of his eyes scrunched up when he smiled so much it made him breathless, with dustings of blush all the way up to his nose. He seemed to almost vibrate with it too, his chest fluttering in tune with his irregular gasps in-between giggles. The effect of the alcohol- visible in how it made his blush even more pink and words even more slurred- made laughing second only to breathing for him.

“No, no-“ he eventually sputtered, starting to take a proper breath “you’re much prettier than a poodle, I’m sorry.”

Despite knowing he already was far past pretending to be unwilling fond of Roger, Brian ducked his head and smiled sheepishly.

“It’s true!” Roger crooned, bending his head down to eye-level, accidentally bumping their foreheads together.

“So much prettier. And manly too! You’ve got long hair but you don’t one bit look like a bird.” Roger swigged back the rest of his drink, shuffling the stool closer. Maybe it was the adrenaline of the night, but he seemed further gone than he was- his eyes more focused on Brian’s face and chest than anywhere else. 

“You don’t look like a woman Rog.” He chuckled, placing his almost empty drink on the bar by leaning around Roger- detangling himself. He didn’t seem to notice however, still muttering something about curly hair. Brian paused, before resting his hand on the back on Roger’s neck to steady him a little, not really wanting to carry the drummer out.

“Do you want to leave now?” he asked quietly, the heavy atmosphere around them creating a wall of stumbling and laughing bodies. He could hardly distinguish one face from the next, probably helped by the alcohol he admitted to himself, and Roger seemed to be at the point where in twenty minutes all he’d want to do was fall asleep.

“Wait- wait a second…” Roger mumbled, leaning a little into his touch before holding onto Brian’s outstretched arm with his own, “wanna do something…”

“What?” Brian asked, half laughing, before glancing down at Roger’s face screwed up in concentration. His eyes seemed to be glued to his lap, his grip stiff on Brian’s arm, his pulse under Brian’s fingers faster than any drumbeat. Like this he looked breath-taking. His golden hair enveloping his face, biting down on his lip slightly made it tinge pink, and Brian felt that pull again. It wasn’t right, it wasn’t okay to-

“I wanna…” he said, as quiet as a breath.

“Okay.”

Roger leaned in slower than he would have thought, barely brushing his lips against Brian’s own for a moment- like he was memorising them. He smelt like alcohol- the crappy liquor he had been drinking- and his near-empty bottle of cologne, and underneath it all, something warm and so distinctly him. It was the smell that linger on Freddie’s borrowed clothes, the oversized jacket Roger borrowed when frost settled on the London air. His eyes were closed, but his eyelashes fluttered like he was an inch from opening them to meet Brian’s own. A flush on his cheeks, and Roger’s lips were moving against his aimlessly, pleasantly. Like a drunken dream he’d once had. He could have asked Roger to pinch him if he wasn’t so distracted, so distracted by the way Roger seemed to lean his whole body forward into Brian’s space. Like a magnet, when he began to pull back Brian felt himself unavoidably pulled forward, chasing after the soft pressure he suddenly didn’t quite want to forget. His eyes opened, blue pupils dilated as they both gasped a little when they finally realised they needed air, and Roger smiled. He smiled, and Brian couldn’t breathe.

~

 

“That didn’t mean anything, not really.” He sighed, feeling deflated as the memory trickled away into his unconscious.

“Didn’t mean anything? You couldn’t take your eyes off him for weeks after and you think it was a drunken accident?” Freddie scoffed, tipping his head back to laugh exhaustedly.

“But Rog-“

“I have good information that Roger is outside with John right now, most likely discussing how romantically clueless you both are.” Fred gestured to the window to the farmyard, thin skeins of cigarette smoke trailing from beside it.

“This isn’t like the last time Brian, I promise! I mean- you kissed him first!” Freddie widely flung his free hand in exasperation, making him chuckle despite the knot in his stomach.

“And we weren’t drunk.” He added, Freddie’s energy enthusing him with a tinge of solidity. He felt for the first time a little more stable in all this, not just like he was squeezing his eyes shut to everything around him.

“Yes, yes-“ he said, almost breathlessly, turning back to Brian with a steely calmness “and now, you are going to talk to him, and tell him everything.” He paused on the last words, staring him down like he was daring Brian to contradict him.

And again, the air around him seemed too light, too insubstantial, and Brian felt his confidence deflate as the scenes flashed inside his head. Anger, disgust, and worse- rejection. There didn’t seem to be any words, none in any language he knew anyway, that could articulate- could say anything!

“How?” he managed, finally.

Freddie pulled a cocked smile, holding his hand tight until his fingers could no longer shake with the nerves.

“I don’t think I can-“

“Then do what you always do, have always done darling. Just say what you feel, through this.” And he tapped his painted fingertip against the Special’s crimson wood. The gentle rap of his nails against the polished guitar was satisfying, making Brian drop his gaze to the guitar laid down on the floor- almost in wait- it’s strap strewn and crumpled from his hasty discarding.

“Thanks Fred.” He spoke, not quietly or softly, but in full understanding. Freddie gave him one last smile before unlacing his hand and standing up, stretching like a cat.

“You both may be blind, but you’re not deaf.” He remarked, strutting to the doorway slowly as the final trails of smoke seemed to dissipate.

The music was his voice, and he now finally had the words to say it- he thought, picking up the guitar and placing it back onto his lap. There! There it was, haunting and full, making the strings sing rather than whine, to fill a gap.

All he had to do was play.


	7. Upon my brow the lightest kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘You never heard my song before  
> The music was too loud  
> But now I think you hear me well  
> For now we both know how'

His mother said he always spoke with his hands.

She’d tease him about it over the kitchen sink, flicking a hand towel towards his fingers drumming on the enamel plates he was drying, he swore he could still feel the heartwarm sting if he thought hard enough. He had suddenly noticed it one day, the way he’d wave his hands around when talking, rapping his knuckles together in impatience, clenching his fists in anger. He couldn’t help it. He remembered the time his father grabbed his hands, clenching them between his fingers so hard, telling him to keep still. His cheeks burning, his knuckles aching.

Not everyone minded, as Roger fiddled with the lock on the studio doors, recalling Brian’s soft chuckle the first time he’d called him out on it. It was to do with his biology lecture: pissed off about something. Hands fiddling in the air trying to gesticulate probably the way he’d like to stuff that dusty biology book down the professors throat when Brian’s warm, almost liquid gold laugh broke him out of his spell. He chuckled, looking at Roger with sunshine in his eyes. When he’d shied away, Brian shrugged off Roger’s sudden embarrassment like snow from his coat, and said it suited him. Energetic hands for a drummer he said. His cheeks were still flushed as he picked up where he left off in his rant, but for an entirely different reason.

Still, his hands still trembled a little as he laid them on the door handle. There were soft vibrations coming through the metal. A hollow, dull sound leaking from under the door.

“I promise we’ll get through this whatever happens in there.” John had smiled shyly, nodding towards the almost empty studio.

“You’re our mate first, drummer second. No way we could replace that.” Freddie added, leaning against the doorframe, quirking an unreadable look towards John.

The two seemed to know everything, and honestly it was kind of a blessing considering how he and Brian had reacted. It was still hard. To think about it, his mind tentatively probing at the memory of last night like a sore wound. His friends encouraging words didn’t make the stung look on Brian’s face any less real, or his own selfish actions any less stupid. Nagging doubt ever-present, like somehow he’d got it all wrong: how Brian would refuse to even see him, disgusted, ashamed. He didn’t know what would hurt more: losing the place in the band that he loved, or the respect of the one he had loved despite it.

His thoughts were interrupted by a guitars wail, so unmistakeable that Roger had to shake the image of Brian- biting his lip with a white-knuckled grip on the neck of his guitar- out of his mind with a vigorous toss of his head.

Brian.

He took a deep breath, Freddie and John’s reassurances flowing through him.

Okay.

The handle clicked open as Roger slowly pushed it forwards, hearing the music grow louder now the air was bare between him and the guitar. Roger grew bolder, shutting the door behind him silently, the rising crescendo of chords glittering in the air as he opened his mouth to speak-

“Fuck!”

Quickly snapping his mouth shut, Roger briefly thought about turning heel and slamming the door behind him. He almost did, his hands twitching against his side in impatience, until Brian spoke up again.

“C’mon… Rog…”

He was bent over the Special, a penny between his teeth as he plucked out a chord- his long fingers pausing over a fret and Brian’s face screwed up in concentration. After a moment, he seemed to come to a decision, nodding to himself and scribbling with the stub of an old pencil on a notebook. It was the one Roger had given him when times were really skint, an old paperback he’d bargained for on the market stall, stiffly handing over a few pennies because he knew he had to give Brian something for his birthday. Brian hadn’t seemed to have minded though, face lighting up when Roger thrust the scruffily wrapped thing in his face, his smile seemed to outshine all of Roger’s uncertainties.

Roger took a couple of certain steps forward, pausing where one of the amplifiers was still plugged in. Running his hands over its face, he could feel the vibrations of Brian’s feather-light touch on the guitars strings. Brian looked so rapt in concentration. Currently fighting with a couple of locks of hair that seemed to spring back from behind his ear, curling around his eyes as Brian huffed. Roger had offered him a hair tie once, another time he’d suggested a haircut to which Brian had gasped at.

“Okay…” Brian murmured, closing his eyes, the nod of his head to an unheard beat.

And then, Roger felt it. He felt it in his bones before it reached his ears.

Brian’s hands skimmed over the strings, followed by cries so long and slow that they echoed around the room, reverberating against his ribcage until Roger’s heart could almost burst. It was like a thousand words at once, chords building off each other as the melody seemed to dip and rise with a heartbeat. With no accompaniment, the sound was so raw and rich that Roger couldn’t help but close his eyes too- lost in the feel and sound of it. Washing over him was the first time he’d heard Brian play- the nervous look in his eyes vanishing as the guitars song took over. He didn’t much like to sing at first, and Roger hadn’t understood until he heard the lyrics he made the guitar sing- more clear and insistent than any words could be. Alone, the longing seemed to pour of the speaker, pooling around him. Roger didn’t care what song this melody was for, because he thought, no, he knew, it was for him.

~

Brian’s hands rested on the final chord, his fingers going slack as the last note faded into the air. It was almost there, maybe he would tinker with it, but it was filled. That gap in his head, the break in the song- it was almost perfect. Repeating the last melody in his head, Brian tangled his fingers in the guitar cable, a lurking thought growing greater each moment. It was almost perfect, and when it was, he would play it for Roger. Yes, it was for Freddie’s song, but it was for Roger. A heartache, a hope, he hoped it could translate into the music. He would ask Roger what he thought, like all the times before where he would lean himself against some amp or speaker, quirking a smile as Brian plucked a couple notes. He’d probably laugh, reading over Brian’s lyrics with a snort, then flashing that grin that made him forget how to play.

That memory made him laugh, as his fingers shook with chuckles as he scrawled a couple changes onto the fading paper. Old thing, a birthday present from Roger. Roger’s concerned face had all but made up for the terrible wrapping, Brian’s heart instantly loving the gift more than anything money could buy. It was almost funny, how much in his life revolved around Queen, around Roger. The thin cotton shirt he was wearing on loan from Fred, the bags under his eyes from late nights trying to get the backing track just right from Rog, the patched-up old amp from Deaky that worked like a charm…

The trail of his fingers along the guitars cable stilled when his eyes met the figure leaning against the amp. Roger’s big, blue eyes, staring at him so intensely with something he couldn’t decipher. How long had he been standing, watching him? Roger was a still as stone, but his chest heaved with intense emotion, his unbroken stare only punctuated by the way his eyes were bright and wet with tears.

“Rog?” he spoke, softly.

“Should we take a break Bri?” Roger mustered, the tender look in him finally hardening to something more. He glanced down to the guitar, and how the cable was tightly twisted in Brian’s hand.

“Oh-“ he nodded, feeling the blood rush back to his fingers as he unclenched them, untangling the Special and putting it aside. Roger didn’t move, but seemed to be following him with his eyes, and Brian couldn’t quite help but blush a little under it.

“I like it.” Roger pushed himself off the amp, taking a step forward to where Brian was resting on the drum risers, running his thumb over the back of his hand.

Brian shrugged, a half-sad smile on his face: “I wrote it for you.”

“I know. I could hear it- your voice.” Roger’s voice seemed to quiver a little, and Brian’s heart seemed to flutter right along with it. Was the riff that obvious? Damn Freddie, why was he always right?

Roger nudged at his knees, and Brian shuffled aside (ignoring the fact there was plenty of room) to let him sit. Their knees bumped together as Roger turned to face him, suddenly gaze shy as he glanced over anywhere but his face.

He could almost drop it here. He could almost brush off everything he’d felt for this. But still, he didn’t think he could quite live with himself if he didn’t at least ask.

“What is it saying?”

The heavy words hung in the air like the guitar’s wails, filling every corner of the room with uncertainty. Brian took a moment to study Roger, with more attention than any of his corner-folded books on stars. His hair was dishevelled, falling over and around his ears where it must have been pulled back once. His eyes were a little red with sleep, and his lips bitten. His hands subconsciously were fiddling with the hem of his shirt, also a borrowed one but most likely from John because it was slightly too tall on him, and spilled over the line of his jeans. The constellation of barely there freckles clustered around his elbows and neckline, shifting under the rise and fall of his chest. He looked beautiful.

“I’m sorry” / “It’s my fault.” They both blurted out at the same time. Brian huffed a little in laughter at their synchronicity, and Roger finally looked up at him with a smile.

“What?” he asked, prompting Brian to talk. The words suddenly seemed more incomprehensible than the equations in his books. The way Freddie had laid it out, it made perfect sense. Now though? It was like trying to read the galaxy without a guide, no directions without a north star.

“Look, I-“ Brian sighed, biting at his lip as Roger seemed to freeze at his indecision “I didn’t want to make you kiss me.”

Roger frowned, pulling back a bit which only frankly made him panic more, grabbing at his hand before remembering- his grip instantly turning gentle. Roger thankfully didn’t move, hooking his little finger around Brian’s own as he took a moment to organise his thoughts.

“Not like that, I mean I did! No, I didn’t want you think that I didn’t-“ he hummed in frustration, the words tangling in his mind like Christmas lights.

“That I didn’t want it. Didn’t want you, you mean?” Roger spoke softly, his eyes cast back down to his lap. Damn it, for all his study at mapping the night sky, he could never figure out Roger. He didn’t revolve around anything, only pulled by the force of his own gravity to people, to music. Even now, when Roger’s hands trembled under his, he couldn’t work it out.

“Right,” He locked their fingers together more tightly, “I’m sorry rog. I didn’t mean any of this to happen.”

Brian was willing for Roger to just look up at him, to see what he was trying to say. He could write it into a lyric, play it into a melody, but never words. Roger seemed to be pulling back from him, his face worked into a quiet passion.

“To us? To the band?”

“Nothing’s going to happen to the band, I promise-“ Brian spoke out, a flood of fear crashing against his words.

“Brian just-“ He glanced up at Brian, and his heart ached at Roger’s eyes blurred with tears, “hear me out.”

“You can always find a new drummer, you can always-“ the words choked in his throat, and Brian tried to speak only for Roger to grasp his hand again.

“I’m not too special, just need a guy that can hit it hard enough right?” he weakly grinned. Even with all his confidence vanished, Roger’s grin still made Brian soft.

“But Bri, we can’t replace you. I can’t replace you.”

He tapped his hand twice, then with newfound determination tucked up his sleeve to wipe away the disobedient tears. Roger seemed to tremble both with anger and fear, his jaw tight in the way it was before he threw a punch.

“Why the fuck can’t I replace you?” he snapped, and Brian had to rub the back of his hand to pull him out of the thought. Roger seemed to almost growl at himself, torn up by what he was saying.

“Hell, when I’m chatting up some girl after a gig, even dancing with her, sleeping with her- I just can’t stop thinking, what if I was with you? Why do I always call you to come over afterwards? Eating toast with you while she slinks out behind your back. What is wrong with me?”

“Rog, I-“ Roger tore his hand away, clenching his fists in a shudder.

“Look just let me finish. I hate this, so much. I’m sorry, because I didn’t think about you. I just, kissed you because I wanted it. I was so frustrated, that night with that lady, Fred and John, your smile- I couldn’t stop myself, and I’m really sorry. I won’t do it again.”

He sighed, all the frustration rushing out in one breath- his head still throbbing from so much left unspoken. He didn’t notice the way Brian anxiously traced his expression, his own hardening as he made up his mind.

“Didn’t stop you the first time.” Brian muttered, the shadow of a smile on his face.

“Huh?”

Roger looked back at Brian, only to find him looking at him with like he’d hung the moon and stars. His curls framed his face, a faint glow from the overhead lights shining around them.

“Is that what you heard? Then the drums really are making you deaf rog.” He chuckled, resting a hand on the Special, brushing his fingers against her lacquered wood. His gaze paused for just a moment, then met Roger’s own to speak.

“What it is… no, what I’m trying to say is that I love you Roger.”

“What?” Words more a gasp then a sentence.

“From the moment you blew my mind by practising with me for the first time, to every night I’ve ever carried you home drunk- I am completely, and utterly in love with you and its terrifying. I never even thought that I liked- that you- I don’t know how this works, and I don’t care.”

For all the silence, the music in his head seemed louder than any concert, any crowded, backstreet bar where he’d had to crush himself to be heard. Roger seemed to be listening to his words fading, the light watery as drifting clouds filtered the sunlight.

“Did you really write that for me?” he asked, heart hanging on his words.

Brian nodded, closing his eyes for a moment, but before he could speak, Roger had leaned forward, pushing himself off with his fingertips into Brian’s lap. His lips were warm, soft, and insistently pressing against his own. Without parting them, Brian pulled him closer until Roger’s chest was flush against his own. He fluttered with his hands for a moment, unsure, resolved by Roger’s own yanking them to his hips. Roger’s hair tickled his face, but Brian didn’t care so long as he always had a lapful of Roger Taylor. Inquisitive hands tangled into his hair, and a little tug had his own lips parting to Roger’s delight. Roger seemed to moan around the kiss as he rubbed circles into his hips, and Brian smiled against him- happy as with every heartbeat his walls seemed to collapse to Roger’s rhythm. It was only after a couple minutes of bumping, laughing and awkward shuffling that they parted, a breathless shiver running up his spine at Roger’s kiss bitten lips. Roger too, looked starved, a hazy glow in his eyes when he noticed how close they were.

“Would you play it again, if I asked you to?” he murmured, pressing a kiss to Brian’s forehead.

“Only if you kiss me again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I lied, this was my favourite chapter to write because its so soft.  
> Look how far we've come! Only one chapter left of an epilogue finishing up some story threads, I'm insanely pleased with how this has turned out.   
> Like I've said before, I'll probably be doing some shorter fics soon so any suggestions or asks of what I should write would be awesome! You can tell me in the comments or send me an message on my tumblr (same name), I'll be doing some song-based ones, but lemme know!  
> I love you 3000 to a friend who has got me through all the writer's blocks, you little ray of sunshine.  
> All kudos and comments are loved so much they are given warm cookies and milk.  
> Thank you!


	8. For every star in heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Wake up in the morning with a good face'

To be totally honest, Brian hated mornings. The harsh light making him want to scrunch up his eyes and cower under the covers, plus how the air was always a few degrees to cold to motivate him to get up. He hated having to think about things, the fragility of the night-time ignorance shattered by the sounds of the would waking up around him. Perhaps it was why he always got up so early, knowing if he decided to lounge back into bed, he’d never leave it. Of course, that had led to some awkwardness, especially when peckishness or perturbation seemed to strike in the early hours of the morning. Once- he recalled, his mind just starting to warm to the idea of waking, he’d startled Roger to the point of high-pitched screaming when he’d found Brian sitting at the kitchen table. True, it was pitch black, and all Roger could make out in his sleep-addled brain on the way to the bathroom was a menacing figure hunched over the table. But still, he didn’t need to wake up every dog in the neighbourhood until Brian shushed him.

Feeling a growing uncomfortable pressure on his side, Brian twisted himself onto his back- his chest rising with the chill morning air. He was still on that side of sleepiness where his body hadn’t seemed to wake up with his mind, the duvet warm and heavy over him. Lazily opening an eye, he watched as the dust drifted on the air currents- dazzling in the sun. The light filtered through the dusty curtains, pale sunshine spilled onto the floor and walls and coated the room with a silvery gleam.

He started to count down the drawn-out moments before he’d have to get up. The eventual shifting, groaning admission that he was awake. Almost on cue, his stomach grumbled a little, an echoing memory of fried mushrooms on buttery toast that he could almost taste in the air. That was another reason to get up, too. Knowing Fred and Roger, only the smell of food would be able to rouse them before midday after a night out. He had known both of them on separate occasions to have shuffled red-eyed into the kitchen, scoffed down breakfast, and promptly fall back asleep in their seat. Once, the memory warmed his chest to think of it, Roger had fallen asleep in Freddie’s chest, both of them softly snoring to the soundtrack of Brian cooking breakfast. Some nights Fred would crash at theirs, flopping himself down onto the couch with a muffled “thank you dear”. In the mornings, since misery loves company, Roger would plop himself next to him and whine as Brian cooked. Brian had laughed and shook his head through all the complaints- headaches and the lot- but only when they fell silent had he turned to see the two tangled against each other. Roger’s face was pressed into Fred’s chest, who chin was resting on his head. Fred had wrapped his arms around Roger, probably to keep him from falling off, but looked like a giant koala with the way that Roger’s legs were tucked around his own. It was ridiculously sweet, and Brian almost cursed how his camera was out of film. Roger was never afraid to show that side of him, especially with Fred. The hugging, shoving, snuggling part of him that craved physical affection, from the way he’d wrap his arm around John while telling a joke or shove himself into Brian’s lap when he was studying to get him to explain something. That was Roger, pure and simple, that was his-

The bed next to him groaned, and the springs in the mattress squeaked as the humming pressure shuffled closer to Brian. He then let out a huff, splaying an arm over Brian’s front and clutching at his shirt, pulling him a little closer.

Oh yeah, Roger.

~

“Bri your hair’s in my face!” 

Roger giggled, his kisses more like fervent presses of lips against his cheek as Brian flushed. He lifted a hand to pull it back, only to have Roger grip his arm tightly and stroke his own hand into Brian’s hair. It felt heavenly, he thought absentmindedly of all the times before Roger had twirled Brian’s hair between his fingers, a small voice in his mind calling him an idiot for not noticing earlier. 

He leant back into Roger’s gentle touch, only grunting as he banged his head against the back of the drum risers. Roger had teased him onto the floor, and was currently straddled over his legs having his filthy way. And to be completely honest? Brian couldn’t care less for his aching head, or uncomfortable back, not with Roger carding his hands between his curls.

“That’s nice.” He hummed, and Roger paused his ministrations to push back a curl behind his ear. 

Watching him, Brian could almost compare him to wild animal. The untamed hair, the bright look in his eyes, and his fervent touches- yes, he was. But in other ways too. Underneath that he seemed to pause before everything, like touching Brian would make the dream shatter into a million pieces. His eyes were wide like he couldn’t get enough of him, and he felt himself almost shy under the gaze that was memorising Brian in a whole new way. He had to be tentative, brushing his fingertips on Roger’s hips before resting his hands there, like a cautious animal. Roger sighed into his touch, leant forward until their chest were almost touching, his forehead an inch away from Brian’s own.

“I can’t believe-“ he started.

“We wasted so much-“ Roger murmured, a shy smile on his face.

The double doors to the studio slammed open, making Roger almost jump into Brian’s arms.

“Fred! They’re basically fucking in here!” John yelled exasperated, his face quickly red with embarrassment.

Brian seemed to yelp in surprise, on reflex pushing back from Roger except that the uncomfortable position gave him nowhere to go so instead he banged his head again on the risers. Roger was wide-eyed, about to jump off when Brian moaned in pain, stifling his giggles in his hands.

“What the hell Deaky?” he managed, rubbing his sore head with his other hand tightly gripped around Roger’s waist.

“Look Fred was threatening to barge in here to yell at you two to get it together, I’m the alternative.” He shrugged, relaxing a little as Roger smiled at him softly.

“And… Fred said he couldn’t see anything from the window anyway.” John shyly waved towards the small window surrounded by old amplifiers and electrical equipment, and Brian wasn’t quite sure if he should laugh or cry at the yell from outside.

“Well tell him to shove off! Everything’s fine John, really I mean it.” Roger winked, but seemed to hold his gaze a little longer with John as if to reassure him. Looking between the two, Roger practically sitting in Brian’s lap, John nodded, turning back to leave.

“Tell Fred we’ll make up for lost time rehearsing tomorrow, he can have us playing through the whole night if he wants.” Brian spoke, pulling Roger a little closer as John hummed in agreement. His gaze trailed as the doors shut, pausing a moment before meeting Roger’s who could only stare at him in some hungry way.

“What was that about lost time?”

~

Roger wouldn’t say he was particularly fond of lie-ins, preferring to just wholeheartedly sleep until the blaring world outside was too intolerable, but this? His eyes fluttering open to Brian’s arms wrapped around him like nothing else existed but the bedcovers and Brian? This was too good.

Feeling each body part wake up, Roger stretched and groaned, pushing himself a little further into Brian’s hold until his hair tickled at his face. Normally he’d wince at the cold air, shoving his duvet up around his ears, but he hardly seemed to mind as Brian’s hands danced along his side as he awoke.

“G’morning” he spoke, gazing down at Roger’s sleep mussed form.

“mmph” Roger replied. Brian was stroking lazy patterns on his hip, the rough skin from playing a soothing contrast to the soft sheets. Roger oriented himself, shuffling until his legs were slotted between Brian’s own and his hands were wrapped around his neck. Brian looked like he had been awake for awhile, his eyes bright and soft in the dilute sunlight bleeding through the curtains. His hair was in all directions, and Roger just wanted to grab at it and pull him in for a kiss. Brian seemed to have the same idea, his eyes flicking between Roger’s own and his lips.

“You are so-“ but Roger urged forward until their lips met. Instead of being annoyed at the interruption, Brian just hummed into the kiss like it was all he had wanted to do since he woke up. It was almost strange, sharing a bed in the morning without the awkward exchanges and gathering of clothes, and Roger could get used to the way Brian was clinging onto him like he never wanted to get up.

“I love you.” he whispered, smiling against Roger’s lips.

“Show me”

“I believe I already did” a cheeky grinning spreading across his face, that if Roger hadn’t just kissed him he would be dying to do so again.

“No I mean it Bri, I need to know that you… that you really-“ the kernel of doubt fluttered in his chest, still frightful he would awake in his cold bed. He began to frown, only for Brian to rush his hands up to his cheeks and hold him there.

“I really-“ he pressed a kiss against his brow, “really do.”

Like his guitar playing, Brian’s fingers were almost just as skilful in carding through his hair, stroking back the stray locks from his face and untangling the knots formed in the night. His heartbeat seemed to drown out any thoughts Roger could conjure, resting against the steady rhythm of his breathing instead. After a while, Brian’s soft humming seemed to filter through to him, like he was almost lost in thought. He strained his neck a little to listen, the delicate but steady melody half-formed in his mind.

“Is that for the album?” he spoke up, pausing Brian’s touch. Brian chewed his lip in thought, shaking his head against the pillow.

“Not yet, but it’s for you. It’s not quite there yet” he sighed, tugging at a lock as Roger’s dangerously mischievous grin spread across his face.

“Can I help you think of some lyrics?” Roger smiled, pushing Brian onto his back slowly until Roger was practically straddling him, the covers draped down to his waist. Brian looked almost stunned, like the time a new comet was discovered, starlight in his eyes. It was different like this, not used to getting his own way, but Roger didn’t feel self-conscious in this light. He would have complained about the cold air nipping at his exposed chest, but the tentative shifting of Brian’s hips under of his own made a bubbling, hungry heat flush his face. Finally out of his head, Brian ran a hand up his chest until it laced with Roger’s own, the other dancing along under the covers.

“Ah Bri, yes-“ he moaned, tipping his head back.

Squeak.

Squeak squeak.

Goddamnit.

Roger stifled a laugh at Brian’s confused expression as the noise continued, the creaking, piercing squeak of the bedsprings under them. He only wanted to laugh more as realisation dawned across his face, going from very aroused to annoyed in a split second.

“C’mon!” he bent over and kissed Brian’s furrowed brow, bouncing a little too deliberately on the bed to the grinding sound beneath them.

“Rog- not here, Roger!” Brian hissed, clearly torn between what was happening before him.

Whining, Roger stuck out his bottom lip. “Why not?”

“The bed.” Brian whispered, “Fred will hear.”

“He’s not even conscious by now, and anyway…” He leaned forward even more to press kisses along Brian’s jawline, “what’s so wrong with that?”

Brian seemed to be in thought for a second, the brief but inevitable idea that they would have to tell the others eventually. Sure, John knew, but they’d never pictured themselves as a couple before. How would the band dynamics work now, could they still fight and spit at each other until they were hoarse, then laugh themselves to sleep? You’re our mate first, the words floating to the front of his memory. And there, within his mind, he knew. They would get through anything together.

“In your head stardust.” He tapped softly on his nose, knowing how Brian could overthink something to pieces. 

“I just... this is so new” Brian smiled unsurely, but the way his fingers tightened in between Roger’s told him he was anything but.

“I don’t know either Bri, but-“ he looked up from where their hands were joined to Brian’s gaze, “-considering the band is kinda our lives we should tell them eventually.”

Brian nodded, seemingly reaching a final agreement between himself and his brain. Roger couldn’t seem to remember a time his heart felt so light, lifted by Brian’s adoring expression.

“But let me have you to myself first, just you.” he chuckled, bringing Roger’s hand up to his lips.

“Just you and I”

~

It was almost half past ten, and Freddie was seriously considering battering that door down. Firstly, he was the one who usually overslept so it wasn’t fun having his crown taken from him, he grumbled, climbing the creaking stairs. Secondly, he turned to face Brian’s door, he didn’t want to be mean to his darling but Brian’s fry-ups were so much better than John’s. It was probably the eggs, he mused, turning the doorknob, golden runny yolks that Brian perfected every time- buttered toast dipped in-

“Brian, John wants to know how you want your eggs, and if you’re ever coming down-“ he declared, mouth agape but no words coming out as his eyes locked on to the scene in front of him.

Brian and Roger. Brian and Roger in bed together. Brian’s face flushed bright red and frozen as the naked Roger hastily pulled up the discarded covers over where he was straddling Brian.

“Fred, no- wait-“ Brian started, only to shove himself back down the bed as he also realised his own, um, inadequate clothing.

“You were right Deaky!” Freddie yelled as he grinned, giving them a thumbs up and a kiss before flying out the room. Brian winced a little as his heavy footsteps ran down the stairs, probably to regale everything to John and anyone else within a hundred mile radius.

“Oops” Roger giggled, a frankly adorable blush painting his nose and cheeks. Brian almost wanted to swat at him with a pillow, instead opting for a gentle smack to his thigh.

“What was that about keeping this to ourselves?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's over, but I've enjoyed almost every bit of this whole process. Maybe I'd do it better if I wrote it again, but I still love this story thats formed from one song and a couple of makeshift headcannons.
> 
> Thank you everyone who's read, kudos'd and commented on this thing, even if it was a brief read, I appreciate everyone! I'm super glad to finish this, and I think I ended it on the right tone I set out to in the beginning.  
> Please feel free to comment and kudos, especially if you have any ideas that you'd like me to put my spin on in the future. I'll be on hiatus for exam season, but you can always contact me on my tumblr. What was your favourite moment in this?   
> Thank you!


End file.
